It was a close and terrible fight. Sir Ronald had naturally a strong and magnificent constitution; it seemed as though he fought inch by inch for his life. He was delirious, but it hardly seemed like the ordinary delirium of fever; it was one long, incessant muttering, no one could tell what, and just when the doctors were beginning to despair and the nurses to grow weary of what seemed an almost helpless task, Kenelm Eyrle came to the rescue. He took up his abode at Aldenmere and devoted himself to Sir Ronald. His strength and patience were both great; he was possessed of such intense vitality himself, and such power of will, that he soon established a marvelous influence over the patient. For some days the contest seemed even--life and death were equally balanced--Sir Ronald was weak as a feeble infant, but the terrible brain fever was conquered, and the doctors gave a slight hope of his recovery. Then it was that Kenelm’s help was invaluable; his strong arm guided the feeble steps, his cheerful words roused him, his strong will influenced him, and that Sir Ronald did recover, after God, was owing to his friend. When he was well enough to think of moving about, the doctors strongly advised him to go away from the scene of the fatal tragedy. “Take your friend to some cheerful place, Mr. Eyrle,” they said, “where he can forget that his beautiful young wife was cruelly murdered; whether he mentions the matter or not, it is now always in his thoughts, his mind dwells on it constantly; take him anywhere where it will cease to haunt him.” Kenelm was quite willing. “I must defer the great business of my life,” he said, “until Ronald is himself again; then if the murderer be still on earth I will find him. Thou hearest me, oh, my God--justice shall be done!” Though outwardly he was cheerful and bright, seemingly devoting all his energies to his friend, yet the one idea was fixed in his mind as are the stars in heaven. He had already spoken many times to Sergeant Hewson on the subject, he had told him that he never intended to rest from his labors until he found out who had done the deed. “You will never rest, then, sir, while you live,” said the sergeant, bluntly; “for I do not believe that it will ever be found out. I have had to do with many queer cases in my life, but this, I am willing to own, beats them all. I can see no light in it.” “It will come to light sometime,” said Kenelm. “Then it will be the work of God, Mr. Eyrle, and not of man,” was the quiet rejoinder. “What makes you despair about it?” asked Kenelm. “There are features in this case different to any other. In most crimes, especially of murder, there is a motive; I can see none in this. There is revenge, greed, gain, robbery, baffled love, there is always a ground for the crime.” “There is none here?” interrupted Kenelm.