"Doctors are not oracles always," snapped Hill. "My opinion's as good as his, and I know Mr. Chandos _will_ get better: there's every chance that he'll be about to-morrow. The bad symptoms seem to be going off as sudden as they came on." "Hill," I whispered, laying hold of her gown as she was flouncing past me, "you say he may be about to-morrow; but will he get well eventually?" "That's another affair," answered Hill. "Dr. Amos said it had been coming on a long while," I pursued, detaining her still. "What complaint is it?" "It's just a complaint that you had better not ask about, for your curiosity can't be satisfied, Miss Hereford," was Hill's response, as she broke away. Broke away, leaving me. In my dreadful uncertainty, I went up to Hickens, who was standing still, looking so sad, and asked him to tell me what was the matter with Mr. Chandos. "I don't know any more than you, Miss. Mr. Chandos has had a vast deal of grief and trouble, and it may be telling upon him. He has looked ill of late." No comfort anywhere—no comfort. How I got through the day I don't know. It seemed as if I had received my death-knell, instead of he his. Hill's opinion, in one respect, proved to be a correct one, for the next day Mr. Chandos appeared to the household. He came down about twelve o'clock, looking pale and subdued—but so he often looked—and I must say I could not detect much change in him. Starting from my seat in the oak-parlour, as he entered it, went up to him in the impulse of the moment. He took both my hands. "Glad to see me again?" "Yes, I am glad," I whispered, calming down my excitement, and swallowing the intrusive tears that had risen. "Mr. Chandos, are you so very ill?" "Who has been telling you that I am?" he inquired, walking to an arm-chair by help of my shoulder, for his ankle was weak yet, but not releasing me when he had sat down in it. "I heard Dr. Amos say so. He said——" "What did he say? Why do you stop?" I could not answer. I could not disclose the opinion I had heard. "I suppose you were within hearing when the doctor said he had but faint hopes of me?" "Yes, I was. But, Mr. Chandos, who could have told you that Dr. Amos said it?" "I was told," he smiled. "All are not so cautious as you, my little maid." "But I hope it is not true. I hope you will get well." "Would it give you any concern if I did not?" My face flushed as I stood before him. Instead of answering, I bent it like a culprit—like a simpleton. "I may cheat the doctors yet," he said, cheerfully. "Have you been ill long?" "I have not been quite well. Anxiety of mind sometimes takes its revenge upon the body."