Miss Vane averted her eyes. "No," she answered; "I have not told him. You will think me weak--I suppose I am weak, Hubert--but I dared not tell him." "And you summoned me from London to break the news? For no other reason?" Miss Vane nodded,--"That was all." Hubert bit his lip and sipped his coffee before saying another word. "Aunt Leo," he said, after a silence during which Miss Vane gave unequivocal signs of nervousness, "I really must say that I think the proceeding was unnecessary." He leaned back in his chair and toyed with his spoon, a whiteness which Miss Vane was accustomed to interpret as a sign of anger showing itself about his nostrils and his lips. She had long looked upon it as an ominous sign. "Hubert, Hubert, don't be angry--don't refuse to help me!" she said, in pleading tones, such as he had never heard from her before. "I assure you that my post in this house is no sinecure. Poor Marion"--she spoke of Mrs. Sydney Vane--"is rapidly sinking into her grave. Ay, you may well start! She has never got over the shock of Sydney's death, and the excitement of the last few days seems to have increased her malady. She insisted on having every report of the trial read to her; and ever since the conviction she has grown weaker, until the doctor says that she can hardly outlast the week. Oh, that wicked man--that murderer--has much to answer for!" said Miss Vane, clasping her hands passionately together. Hubert was silent; his eyebrows were drawn down over his eyes, his face was strangely white. "Your uncle," Miss Vane continued sadly, "is nearly heart-broken. You know how much he loved poor Sydney, how much he cares for Marion. He has been a different man ever since that terrible day. I am afraid for his health--for his reason even, if----" "For Heaven's sake, stop," said the young man hoarsely. "I can't bear this enumeration of misfortunes; it--it makes me--ill! Don't say any more." He pushed back his chair, rose, and went to the sideboard, where he poured out a glass of water from the carafe and drank it off. Then he leaned both elbows on the damask-covered mahogany surface, and rested his forehead on his hands. Miss Vane stared at his bowed head, at his bent figure, with unfeigned amazement. She thought that she knew Hubert well, and she had never numbered over-sensitiveness amongst his virtues or vices. She concluded that the last night's dissipation had been too much for his nerves. "Hubert," she said at length, "you must be ill." "I believe I am," the young man answered. He raised his face from his hands, drew out his handkerchief, and wiped his forehead with it before turning round. It were well that his aunt should not see the cold drops of perspiration standing upon his brow. He tried to laugh as he came forward to the table once more. "You must excuse me," he said. "I have not been well for the last few days, and your list of disasters quite upset me."