“Very good, very good, couldn’t be better. Lady Bride, if you will only go on as successfully as you have begun, we shall have him round the corner by the time the day is over. A magnificent constitution--truly a magnificent one! Could not have believed it! Gave very little signs of life four hours ago--just a flicker; but I was afraid to hope too much, and now--why, there’s quite a pulse, and no fever. Wonderful! wonderful!” Eustace was growing drowsy by this time--a very favourable symptom in the doctor’s sight. The murmur of voices about him induced a state of dreamy torpor. His eyes closed, and he dropped off into a light dose, as people do who are very weak, but have no fever or pain. Bride looked up with a smile at her father. “He will be better if he sleeps,” she said. “Will you not sit down, papa? you look so tired.” The doctor gave a shrewd glance at the Duke’s face, and seconded his daughter’s recommendation. They drew a little away from the bed, and Bride asked softly-- “What about Saul?” The doctor shook his head. “He is in a raging fever. Whether it is an affection of the brain, or the effects of the exposure and wetting on a constitution already much enfeebled, I hardly know yet, but he is in raving delirium at present, and I doubt if we pull him through. Poor fellow! poor fellow! It is a fine character blasted and ruined, a fine career flung away for the gratification of senseless passion! Ah me!--we live in a world of perplexities. The history of that young man has been a source of wonderment and sorrow to the whole place. I fear it is drawing to its close now.” “Perhaps that is the happiest thing for him,” said Bride softly, “if only----” She did not finish her sentence--there was no need. All who knew the young man’s story could finish it themselves. As the girl sat beside Eustace whilst the hours sped by, each one renewing her hope and sense of thankful relief in seeing the flame of life within him burn more steadily and brightly, her thoughts were much with that other patient lying not so far away, wondering what was going on in his soul, and whether this chastening had indeed been for the salvation of his soul. Towards evening Eustace was so wonderfully recovered that he had spoken a few short sentences, and would have told her something of the wreck of the vessel, only that consecutive speech was forbidden him. The grey shadow had vanished, a faint colour had come into his lips. He was able to take such nourishment as his condition required, and to dispense with much of the outward application of heat. At last he fell into a sound, refreshing, and perfectly natural sleep, and Bride, at the suggestion of the nurse, stole away to get a mouthful of air on the terrace before dark, after which she went herself to that other part of the house where Saul lay, to try to get speech of Abner, who was with his grandson, as he had been ever since he was brought in the previous night.