Next morning, though hoarse and in a little pain, Antony was well enough to be up. He had been very bad during the night, however, and fat Mary had taken it in turns with the child Lotty to watch by his bedside all throughout the long, still hours. Chops brought in his breakfast. Lotty, he told our hero, had gone to lie down, so he was a little anxious. But about twelve o'clock, lo! the little gipsy lass herself came tripping up the steps with a lapful of autumn wild-flowers. Then Antony thrust out both his great strong arms and pulled her right up and pressed her, flowers and all, to his heart. 'You dear, sweet child,' he said, 'I'll never know how to thank you for my worthless life. You're the cherub, Lotty, who sits up aloft to--to'---- 'But I mustn't sit up aloft,' she said naïvely, and wriggled down. Yet in his gratitude he had kissed her brow and her bonny hair, and now he set her to arrange the flowers, watching her every action as she did so. There would be nothing doing in Biffins's camp to-day; and as the doctor forbade Antony to go out, that same afternoon Lotty and Wallace came to the 'Gipsy Queen' with the violin. Wallace did not play, though he looked clever enough for anything; but during the performance of his little mistress he lay on the sofa on a rug which Antony had put there for him and never took his eyes off the child, often heaving big sighs, and one cannot really help wondering what dogs are thinking about when they behave in this way. Does the playing actually bring them pleasure, or do they but suffer the music in silent sorrow? Who can answer? One thing at least is certain: man's friend the dog knows far more than people who do not know him would give him credit for. But Antony was really and truly thrilled by this child's remarkable performance. He was much surprised, however, when presently she suddenly laid down both fiddle and bow and burst into a flood of tears. Antony was astonished--thunderstruck, one might say; and if there was anything more than another that could appeal to this young fellow's manly heart it was the tears of grief. But she was quickly better and smiling again; only, although he tried to find out the cause of the sudden outbreak he utterly failed. All she would say was, 'It is nothing. I will tell you some time, or Mary or Crona will tell you.' But the truth was not far to seek; for, just as she was playing, she happened to look out of the window and her eyes fell on her father. His face was hard-set and stern; and this, coupled with his language at the time when Antony was brought to the beach apparently dead, caused Lotty to believe now that he was really not over-well pleased that his guest had been brought back to life again. CHAPTER VIII. THE MYSTERY OF THE MERMAN.