For the first three days his existence was one of completest, listless idleness. There were books in the house; but he had no desire to read. He was content to lie there smoking and moping. Each morning Mrs. Dallows reported to him the condition of the patient, which was one of steady improvement, and this was confirmed by the doctor, who paid two visits in the course of those three days. On the second of those occasions he remained some time in talk with Holles, giving him news of the dreadful state of things outside. Whitehall was empty now of all its courtly tenants with the single exception of the Duke of Albemarle. Honest George Monk had elected to remain undaunted at his post as the representative of his King, to perform in the King’s name--and whilst His Majesty was busy at Salisbury with the amorous pursuit of Miss Frances Stewart--all that which a king himself should be at hand to perform in time of national stress, to mitigate the tribulations of his subjects. Hopefully Holles inquired of Beamish if he knew aught of Buckingham. Hopefully, that is, because he was expecting to hear that the Duke was laid low by the infection. “Gone with the rest,” the doctor informed him. “He left Town for the North a week ago, aroused to a sudden sense of his duty as Lord Lieutenant of York by the fact that a French lackey in his household was stricken with the plague. He’ll be safe enough in York, no doubt.” “A French lackey, eh? Only a lackey!” The Colonel’s face was overspread with disappointment. “The devil watches over his own,” he grumbled. “A wretched lackey pays for the sins of his master. Well, well, I suppose there is a God--somewhere.” “Have you no cause to know it, sir, and to give thanks?” Beamish reproved him. And Holles turned away without answering, beyond a sigh and a shrug, which but served to increase the doctor’s perplexity over the behaviour of the members of this odd household. That all was very far from well there was abundantly clear. Acting upon a sudden impulse, Dr. Beamish left the room, and mounted the stairs again--for all that his time was short and his patients many. Dismissing Mrs. Dallows upon some trivial errand to the kitchen, he remained closeted for five minutes with Miss Sylvester. That was the name by which he knew her, the name by which she had chosen to make herself known to both doctor and nurse. Whether it was as a result of what he said to her in those five minutes, or whether other influences were at work, within an hour of the doctor’s departure, Holles was sought by Mrs. Dallows with a message that Miss Sylvester was risen, and desired to speak with him.