“And keep yourself warm,” said the doctor, who was not in the habit of taking his patients into his confidence. “I’ll send round some medicine.” “I should like Miss Nugent to know I’m bad,” said Mr. Wilks, in a weak voice. “She knows that,” replied Murchison. “She was telling me about you the other day.” He put his hand up to his neat black moustache to hide a smile, and met the steward’s indignant gaze without flinching. “I mean ill,” said the latter, sharply. “Oh, yes,” said the other. “Well, you get to bed now. Good morning.” He took up his hat and stick and departed. Mr. Wilks sat for a little while over the fire, and then, rising, hobbled slowly upstairs to bed and forgot his troubles in sleep. He slept until the afternoon, and then, raising himself in bed, listened to the sounds of stealthy sweeping in the room below. Chairs were being moved about, and the tinkle of ornaments on the mantelpiece announced that dusting operations were in progress. He lay down again with a satisfied smile; it was like a tale in a story-book: the faithful old servant and his master’s daughter. He closed his eyes as he heard her coming upstairs. [Illustration: “The meagre figure of Mrs. Silk.”] “Ah, pore dear,” said a voice. Mr. Wilks opened his eyes sharply and beheld the meagre figure of Mrs. Silk. In one hand she held a medicine-bottle and a glass and in the other paper and firewood. “I only ’eard of it half an hour ago,” she said, reproachfully. “I saw the doctor’s boy, and I left my work and came over at once. Why didn’t you let me know?” Mr. Wilks muttered that he didn’t know, and lay crossly regarding his attentive neighbour as she knelt down and daintily lit the fire. This task finished, she proceeded to make the room tidy, and then set about making beef-tea in a little saucepan. “You lay still and get well,” she remarked, with tender playfulness. “That’s all you’ve got to do. Me and Teddy’ll look after you.” “I couldn’t think of troubling you,” said the steward, earnestly. “It’s no trouble,” was the reply. “You don’t think I’d leave you here alone helpless, do you?” “I was going to send for old Mrs. Jackson if I didn’t get well to-day,” said Mr. Wilks. Mrs. Silk shook her head at him, and, after punching up his pillow, took an easy chair by the fire and sat there musing. Mr. Edward Silk came in to tea, and, after remarking that Mr. Wilks was very flushed and had got a nasty look about the eyes and a cough which he didn’t like, fell to discoursing on death-beds. “Good nursing is the principal thing,” said his mother. “I nursed my pore dear ’usband all through his last illness. He couldn’t bear me to be out of the room. I nursed my mother right up to the last, and your pore Aunt Jane went off in my arms.” Mr. Wilks raised himself on his elbow and his eyes shone feverishly in the lamplight. “I think I’ll get a ’ospital nurse to-morrow,” he said, decidedly.