"You could not have cared very much for William Stane, Alice, or he for you," one day remarked her mother, to whom the affair had given pain, interrupting Alice in the carolling of a song, sung to an impromptu dance. "Cared for him, mamma!" she returned, in her spirit of bravado. "I am well rid of him." Mrs. Raynor sighed. Alice had so changed: not, she feared, for the better. So had Charles. Good fortune had ruined them all. CHAPTER VI. STARTLING NEWS. The first of June. A day destined to be an eventful one at Eagles' Nest. At five o'clock in the morning the house was aroused from its peaceful slumbers by a commotion. Mrs. Raynor's bell was ringing violently; Mrs. Raynor's voice was calling for help in loud and anxious tones. Major Raynor had been taken ill. Frank was first at the bedside. His uncle lay unconscious, or partly so, exhibiting alarming symptoms. An attack of some kind seemed imminent; Frank thought it would prove apoplexy. Other advice was sent for. Long before the usual hour for breakfast, breakfast had been taken, and the family hardly knew what to do with themselves. Dr. Selfe, a clever man, residing near, had seen Major Raynor--who now seemed to be somewhat better. The doctor quite agreed with Frank that the symptoms were indicative of apoplexy; but he thought that it might be warded off, at least for the present, by the aid of powerful remedies. These remedies had been applied, and the patient was decidedly improving. He spoke little, but was quite conscious. On these occasions, when one out of the home circle is lying upstairs in sudden and dangerous illness, the house becomes utterly unsettled. Ordinary habits are changed; no one knows what to be at. "I shall ring for some more coffee," said Charles, rising as he spoke. "There's nothing else to do." Lamb came in and received the order. The breakfast-things were still on the table. This was one of the pleasantest rooms in the house: small and cosy, with glass-doors opening to the garden. It faced the west, so was free from the morning sun: but, beyond the shade cast by the house, that sun shone brightly on the smooth green grass and clustering flowers. Whilst waiting for the coffee, which had to be made, Charles leaned against the window, half in, half out-of-doors, whistling softly and keeping a good look-out around, lest any Philistine should be approaching unawares. This illness of his father's terribly complicated matters. In the midst of Charley's worst apprehensions there had lain, down deep in his heart, the vista of a possible refuge. He had whispered to himself, "When things come to a crisis, my father will no doubt find a way to help me;" and the hope had been as a healing balm to his spirit. But his father, lying in this state, could not be applied to: his repose of mind must not be disturbed: and if Charley fell into some tiger's clutches now, what on earth was he to do?