“There is no need for gratitude,” said Colin, drawing away his hand with an impatience which he could not have explained. “I am sorry to find myself such a poor creature that I have to be nursed, and give you trouble. Your son is all right, I hear.” This he said with an effort at friendliness which cost him some trouble. He scorned to seem to envy the young favourite of fortune, but it was annoying to feel that the strength he was secretly proud of had given way at so slight a trial. He turned his face a little more towards the wall, and away from Harry’s mother, as he spoke. “Oh, yes,” said Lady Frankland, “he is quite well, and he is very, very grateful to you, dear Mr. Campbell. Believe me, we are all very grateful. Harry is so shy; and he has never once had an opportunity to pay you that--that attention which you deserve at his hands; and it showed such noble and disinterested regard on your part----” “Pray don’t say so,” said Colin, abruptly; “you make me uncomfortable; there was no regard whatever in the case.” “Ah, yes! you say so to lighten our sense of obligation,” said Lady Frankland. “It is so good, so kind of you. And when I think what it has made you suffer--but I am sure you will believe that there is nothing we would not do to show our gratitude. If you were our own son neither Sir Thomas nor I could be more anxious. We have sent for Sir Apsley Wendown, and I hope he will arrive to-day; and we have sent for your dear Mother, Mr. Campbell----” “My mother?” said Colin. He was so much startled that he raised himself up on his pillows without thinking, and as he did so was seized by a horrible pain which took away his breath. “Sir Apsley Wendown and my mother? What does it mean?” the young man said gasping, as he managed to slide down again into his former recumbent position. “Am I ill? or does all this commotion arise simply from an unlooked-for ducking and a knock against the side of the canal.” He got this out with difficulty, though he strove with all his might to conceal the trouble it gave him; then he turned his eyes to Lady Frankland, who sat wringing her hands and full of agitation by his bedside. The poor lady had altogether lost her good-natured and amiable composure. Whatever she had to say to him, whatever the character of the communication might be, it disturbed her greatly. She wrung her hands, and gave him a painful hurried glance, and then withdrew her eyes from his inquiring looks. All this time Colin lay impatient, looking at her, wondering, with a sharp sensation of anger, what she could have to say.