"He cannot have much of that," remarked Mr. Grubb. "The nurse says she cannot get him to take his food. If he does not, he must sink, Adela." Their eyes met. There was certainly no reproach in his, only a settled look of pain. Adela did not want her baby to die, and the fear of it was beginning to trouble her; she was aware that, looking at matters from _their_ point of view, her enemies', she might not be altogether unconscious of meriting some reproach. Back she lay on the pillow again, and burst into tears. Mr. Grubb went round, bent down, and sheltered her head on his breast. "I don't want him to die," she sobbed. "Won't you try to save him?" he whispered in his tenderly persuasive tones, as he held her face close to his own. "But the trouble!--and the sacrifice. Oh, how cross and contrary the world sometimes is!" "Your own child and mine, Adela! It would be only a little sacrifice, a little trouble. When he gets older, he will repay you love for love." A pause. "I suppose you will be very cross with me if I don't, Francis." "Am I ever cross with you! I should grieve for the child, if he died; I should grieve for your grief, for I know you would feel it. Oh, my darling, won't you try to save him? To do so must be right in God's sight." She cried silently for a minute longer, her wet cheek lying contentedly against his. "Perhaps I will," she whispered in his ear. "For _his_ sake, you know." "For all our sakes, Adela." "Put him nearer to me, please. I will look at him again--whether he does seem ill. And how late you will be at church!" "Not very: the bell is going yet," said Mr. Grubb. He placed the infant where she could look at it closely; gave her a farewell kiss, and departed. Adela rang for the nurse. "You may throw away all the stupid gruel, nurse. I shall not let the baby have any more of it." CHAPTER IX. JOSEPH HORN'S TESTIMONY. "Some one is waiting to see you, sir," said one of Mr. Grubb's servants to him, as he entered the house on his return from church. "Who is it?" "Mr. Dalrymple's man, sir. He has been waiting nearly an hour." Reuben came forward from the back of the hall. The moment Mr. Grubb caught sight of his face, usually so full of healthy bloom, now pale and woe-begone, he was seized with a presentiment of evil. "Come into the library, Reuben," he said. "Have you brought ill news of any kind?" he added, shutting the door. "What is it?" And to make matters more intelligible to you, reader, we will go back to the past Friday night, when Robert Dalrymple left his lodgings in the company of Mr. Piggott, leaving poor Reuben in distress and despair.