"My master is very ill, sir," Thomas returned, "and is asking to speak with you, sir." "What is the matter with him?" Teddie asked, blankly. "The doctors don’t exactly say, sir, but the heart’s action is giving out, as I understand it. Can you come at once, sir? It is a matter of a few hours, at best." Teddie nodded and re-entered the inner office, to acquaint Mr. Hamilton with the sad intelligence. "You had better take a cab and be off instantly," was his kindly advice. And Teddy, accompanied by the man, followed his counsel, only stopping at a telegraph office on the way, to ask Helen to come to Lancaster Gate. A doctor turned from the bedside as Teddie entered his uncle’s room. He motioned the young man aside, and laid great stress upon not exciting the patient, and expressed the opinion that relatives should be informed of the approaching end. Teddie was relieved to see his uncle look much as usual. In his utter inexperience he had supposed the fatal illness must inevitably have worked terrible havoc in his appearance. Beyond accentuation of the lines, with which age and suffering had furrowed his face, the boy could perceive but little change. At once reassured, he grasped the feeble hand that was held out to him, and began to pour forth boyish words of cheer and comfort, bringing a smile to his uncle’s lips. "This is only a bad attack. You’ll be over it in no time," he assured him. "Doctors are mostly old women and love croaking. Shall I shake up your pillow?" he asked, at a loss what to say or do next, "and—and give you a dose of medicine?" "Teddie," Mr. Desborough said—and at the sound of his voice Teddie’s hope sank again—"Teddie, we must look this thing squarely in the face. I am dying, my boy, and I sent for you. I had one or two things to speak of. I leave all I have, unconditionally, to my niece Helen, which circumstance you will all learn soon enough now. But what I wanted to say is this. That little sister of yours, my little Hazel"—his face softened strangely as he spoke her name—"who has always been wanting to ’earn money,’ to quote her own words"—again he smiled—"for the most unselfish purposes, ought to be told that she, and she alone, has redeemed the fortunes of her house. But for her I should never have become reconciled to my niece Helen, or learned to love her and her children." "It was my intention," he continued, after pausing to rest, "to leave all to Hazel; but she will be well provided for; and I know her well enough to feel convinced that, were she here, she would tell me how infinitely she would prefer that this money should restore the old home and the old name to their former status. The child can then go to her new home, and enter upon her new life with a light heart. Will you tell her this from me?" Something gripped Teddie’s throat. "All right," he said huskily, "I’ll tell her."