He was carried to his room through the hall where he had lately trod so stately,--the poor old man now helpless as the dead. Leaving the dining-room, Agatha thought she saw his eyes turn back, as if he knew that he was crossing the doorway he would never cross more, and wanted to take a last look at the familiar things. Otherwise he seemed continually watching herself. She walked beside him till he was laid upon his bed, and then tried again to speak to him. She did it caressingly, as though the old dying man had been a sick child. “Be content, now--quite content. I will take care of you, and see that all is done right. I shall, not be away two minutes; I am only going to send for help--your own doctor from Kingcombe. We must try to get you well. Lie here quiet.” Quiet! It was like enjoining stillness to a corpse! Agatha shuddered when she had used the word. For a moment the dread of her position rose upon her. In that lonely house, at night too, with no help nearer than Kingcombe: and even then no husband, no friend--for she dared not send to poor, sick Anne Valery! And she so young, so inexperienced.--But no matter! She would try to meet everything--do everything. She felt already calm and brave. The first thing necessary was to send for medical aid. This she did; having the forethought to write a few clear lines, lest the messenger should fail. She despatched word likewise to the Dugdales. She felt quite composed; everything right to be remembered came clearly into her head. It was the grand touch-stone of her character; the crisis of danger which shows whether a woman has that presence of mind which exalts her into a domestic heroine, an angel of comfort; or the weakness which sinks her into a helpless selfish fool. The latter was hardly likely to become a true picture of Agatha Harper. She went about with Mary, giving some orders to the servants, for sickness always comes startingly upon an unprepared and unaccustomed house; and tried to find a few soothing words for the terrified Eulalie, who clung crying about them both, forgetting all her affectations. If the Beauty had any love left in her, it was for her father. Lastly, Agatha took a light, and went swiftly along the passages to the distant wing of the house which Elizabeth occupied. “Miss Harper,” her maid said, “had gone quietly to rest, and was then fast sleeping.” Poor Elizabeth! this seemed the hardest point of all. “When did she see her father?” “This morning. The master always comes up every morning after breakfast to see Miss Harper.” And they would never see one another again, this helpless father and daughter--never, till they met bodiless, in the next world! For the moment Agatha felt her courage fail She glided quickly from the door, but came back again. Elizabeth had waked, and called her. “What is the matter? I know something is the matter.”