'Why, my dear brave girl, what ails you?' said he. 'Ignorance.' She raised her eyelids. His head was bent down over her, like a raven's watching, a picture of gravest vigilance. Her bosom rose and sank. 'What has Miss Denham written to-day?' 'To-day?' he asked her gently. 'I shall bear it,' she answered. 'You were my master before you were my husband. I bear anything you think is good for my government. Only, my ignorance is fever; I share Nevil's.' 'Have you been to my desk at all?' 'No. I read your eyes and your hands: I have been living on them. To- day I find that I have not gained by it, as I hoped I should. Ignorance kills me. I really have courage to bear to hear just at this moment I have.' 'There's no bad news, my love,' said the earl. 'High fever, is it?' 'The usual fever. Gannet's with him. I sent for Gannet to go there, to satisfy you.' 'Nevil is not dead?' 'Lord! ma'am, my dear soul!' 'He is alive?' 'Quite: certainly alive; as much alive as I am; only going a little faster, as fellows do in the jumps of a fever. The best doctor in England is by his bed. He 's doing fairly. You should have let me know you were fretting, my Rosamund.' 'I did not wish to tempt you to lie, my dear lord.' 'Well, there are times when a woman . . . as you are: but you're a brave woman, a strong heart, and my wife. You want some one to sit with you, don't you? Louise Devereux is a pleasant person, but you want a man to amuse you. I'd have sent to Stukely, but you want a serious man, I fancy.' So much had the earl been thrown out of his plan for protecting his wife, that he felt helpless, and hinted at the aids and comforts of religion. He had not rejected the official Church, and regarding it now as in alliance with great Houses, he considered that its ministers might also be useful to the troubled women of noble families. He offered, if she pleased, to call in the rector to sit with her--the bishop of the diocese, if she liked. 'But just as you like, my love,' he added. 'You know you have to avoid fretting. I've heard my sisters talk of the parson doing them good off and on about the time of their being brought to bed. He elevated their minds, they said. I'm sure I've no objection. If he can doctor the minds of women he's got a profession worth something.' Rosamund smothered an outcry. 'You mean that Nevil is past hope!' 'Not if he's got a fair half of our blood in him. And Richard Beauchamp gave the fellow good stock. He has about the best blood in England. That's not saying much when they've taken to breed as they build--stuff to keep the plasterers at work; devil a thought of posterity!'