Mr. Pym looked gravely at his brother; then, half-turning to the others, said: “Pray, say what pleases you, Roderick; it will not hurt me.” “You made a Diogenes of me,” went on Sir Roderick. “Well, at last, I found a _man_. This is the man—the rock I am leaning against to die!” There was silence. Whatever Roderick or his father may have felt, they were silent; nor did they betray any emotion by glance or movement. But Lilia knelt down and kissed the cold hand lying on the bed. At that little spontaneous action Sir Roderick smiled, and Hugh began to believe that Lilia’s heart was his. “I knew I was done for after the accident,” he went on; “but as I had found an honest man I didn’t mind. Where’s Mervyn?” He roused himself, and struggled into a sitting posture. “Don’t kneel there; fetch Mervyn, can’t you?” he said to Lilia, querulously. “Fetch him,” said Hugh, pleadingly. He felt overwhelmed by this sudden and unexpected crisis in his life. He pitied himself and each one of them for being, as it were, called to arms without hint or warning of war. And Lilia—he felt almost as if her holiest feelings were to be outraged. Yet, without troubling the dying man, he could do nothing to protect her. There was a hush in the sick chamber. Roderick stood leaning against a wardrobe; Mr. Pym remained quietly seated as if he were on the magisterial bench, or in his pew in church. Presently the door opened, and Lilia came in, followed by Mr. Mervyn. At the sight of him Sir Roderick gave a sort of grunt of satisfaction. “You know what I want you for,” he said. Mr. Mervyn’s pale face flushed, and he glanced uneasily round. Then he went up to the bed and laid his hand kindly on Sir Roderick’s. “Not exactly,” he said, cheerily. “You must tell me, for you said so many things. I do not know which one of them you allude to.” With evident difficulty, Sir Roderick raised his hand and pointed from Hugh to Lilia. “Marry them!” he gasped. “Here, now, at once!” Mr. Mervyn looked helplessly at Hugh. “What am I to do, Mr. Paull?” he said. “Lilia!” Lilia had evidently not heard, or hearing, had not understood. “What is it he wants?” she asked, coming to the bedside. “Will you marry her now?” asked Sir Roderick, struggling away from Hugh, so that he could look up into his face. “If she consents,” said Hugh, looking fixedly at Lilia. But her eyes were cast down: she was red as a rose—the picture of shame. Mr. Pym jumped up, as if suddenly awakened from a stupor of astonishment. “I—I protest against this—this mad notion—this insult to my niece!” he began, evidently angered beyond power of self-control. Once more Sir Roderick chuckled. “You protest against her money being her own, eh?” he said. “You would like your handsome son to spend it on his women, eh? Stand back!” he said, solemnly, raising his hand warningly as Roderick stepped forward, white with passion. “Mervyn, marry them! Do you hear?”