"Yes, of course. Well, I'll try to find out all about it for a certainty in the course of a few days; and now I must go, for I promised to dine with my aunts in Pembridge Terrace this evening," and Webster rose and held out his hand as he spoke. "What a wonderfully attentive nephew you are!" said Kathleen Weir, also rising, with a light laugh. "Do you know I'm beginning to believe there is something behind these two respectable old ladies? A pretty cousin, eh? Or, perhaps, even a housemaid?" Webster's dark face colored. "There is no cousin," he answered; "and as far as I remember the housemaid is a remarkably plain-featured young woman, so you see you are wrong." "It's like my interest in John Temple then, a mere matter of money," smiled the actress, showing her white teeth. "Ah, well, my friend, such is life!" "Such, indeed," thought Webster, bitterly, as he descended the stone flight of steps that led to Miss Kathleen Weir's flat; "here is a tragedy and a comedy combined." He did really dine with his aunts, and it was during the evening that both Miss Margaret and Miss Eliza became convinced that, as they expressed it, he had "something on his mind." His dark, resolute eyes lingered on the sweet face opposite him, and his usually fluent tongue was seldom heard. He went away early, and he went away as irresolute how he should act as when he arrived. "Ralph doesn't look well," said Miss Margaret, as the door closed behind him. "No, indeed," sighed Miss Eliza. "And how silent he was!" smiled May. But the day after this visit, the very next day, she knew what had made him silent and sad. It was a dreary day, dull, and at times wet, and during the afternoon, about four o'clock, Miss Margaret, Miss Eliza, and May were all sitting in the dining-room at Pembridge Terrace, where a cheery fire helped to exclude some of the gloom outside. Miss Margaret was knitting, Miss Eliza reading a novel, and May seemingly reading a novel, but really thinking of John Temple. The sound of a cab stopping at the door, however, interrupted all their occupations. "Can that be Ralph?" said Miss Margaret, looking up. May also looked up and turned her head so that she could see out of the window, and the next moment rose with a glad cry. "It's John!" she said, and as she spoke she ran out of the room into the hall, just as John Temple was entering it. "John! dear John!" she cried, and without a word he took her in his arms and pressed her, nay crushed her, against his breast. "John!" again May murmured, and then she raised her head and looked in his face. It was pale and agitated, and he spoke no word. And as she looked at him he pressed his lips on hers and something in his expression, something even in his touch, with the swift and subtle knowledge of love, thrilled her heart with sudden fear. "Is anything the matter?" she whispered. "John, are you ill?" "I am not very well," he answered, slowly and painfully.