“Unhappy!” said Mr. Coyne. “We don't allow unhappiness here; our doctor is too fond of them; he is always contriving something to please them.” At this moment Lady Bassett looked up and saw a woman watching her over the rail of a corridor on the first floor. She recognized the face directly. The woman made her a rapid signal, and then disappeared into one of the rooms. “Would there be any objection to our going upstairs, Mr. Coyne?” said Lady Bassett, with a calm voice and a heart thumping violently. “Oh, none whatever. I'll conduct you; but then, I am afraid I must leave you for a time.” He showed her upstairs, blew a whistle, handed her over to an attendant, and bowed and smiled himself away grotesquely. Jones was the very keeper she had feed last visit. She flushed with joy at sight of bull-necked, burly Jones. “Oh, Mr. Jones!” said she, putting her hands together with a look that might have melted a hangman. Jones winked, and watched Mr. Coyne out of sight. “I have seen your ladyship's maid,” said Jones, confidentially. “It is all right. Mr. Coyne have got the blinkers on. Only pass me your word not to excite him.” “Oh no, sir, I will soothe him.” And she trembled all over. “Sally!” cried Jones. The nurse came out of a room and held the door ajar; she whispered, “I have prepared him, madam; he is all right.” Lady Bassett, by a great effort, kept her feet from rushing, her heart from crying out with joy, and she entered the room. Sally closed the door like a shot, with a delicacy one would hardly have given her credit for, to judge from appearances. Sir Charles stood in the middle of the room, beaming to receive her, but restraining himself. They met: he held her to his heart; she wept for joy and grief upon his neck. Neither spoke for a long time. CHAPTER XXIV. THEY were seated hand in hand, comparing notes and comforting each other. Then Lady Bassett met with a great surprise: forgetting, or rather not realizing, Sir Charles's sex and character, she began with a heavy heart to play the consoler; but after he had embraced her many times with tender rapture, and thanked God for the sight of her, lo and behold, this doughty baronet claimed his rights of manhood, and, in spite of his capture, his incarceration, and his malady, set to work to console her, instead of lying down to be consoled. “My darling Bella,” said he, “don't you make a mountain of a mole-hill. The moment you told me I should be a father I began to get better, and to laugh at Richard Bassett's malice. Of course I was terribly knocked over at first by being captured like a felon and clapped under lock and key; but I am getting over that. My head gets muddled once a day, that is all. They gave me some poison the first day that made me drunk twelve hours after; but they have not repeated it.” “Oh!” cried Lady Bassett, “then don't let me lose a moment. How could I forget?” She opened the door, and called in Mr. Jones and the nurse.