"What should he have on his mind?" retorted Mr. Brandon, in contention. "Except his sins. And I expect _they_ don't trouble him much." Pitt laughed a little. "Well, sir, he is not in any danger at present. But if the fever were to come back again--and increase--why, I can't foresee what the result might be." "Then I shall send for Lady Bevere." Pitt opened his eyes. "Lady Bevere!" he repeated. "Who is she?" "Lady Bevere, sir, is Roger's mother and my sister. I shall write to-day." Mr. Brandon had an appointment with his lawyers that morning and went out with the Squire to keep it, leaving me with the patient. "And take care you don't let him talk, Johnny," was his parting injunction to me. "Keep him perfectly quiet." That was all very well, and I did my best to obey orders; but Roger would not be kept quiet. He was for ever sighing and starting, now turning to this side, now to that, and throwing his undamaged arm up like a ball at play. "Is it pain that makes you so restless?" I asked. "Pain, no," he groaned. "It's the bother. The pain is nothing now to what it was." "Bother of what?" "Oh--altogether. I say, what on earth brought Uncle John to London just now?" "A matter connected with my property. He is my guardian and trustee, you know." To which answer Bevere only groaned again. After taking a great jorum of beef-tea, which Mrs. Mapping brought up at mid-day, he was lying still and tranquil, when there came a loud knock at the street-door. Steps clattered up the stairs, and a tall, dark-haired young man put his head into the room. "Bevere, old fellow, how are you? We've been so sorry to hear of your mishap!" There was nothing alarming in the words and they were spoken gently; or in the visitor either, for he was good-looking; but in a moment Bevere was sitting bolt upright in bed, gazing out in fright as though he saw an apparition. "What the deuce has brought you here, Lightfoot?" he cried, angrily. "Came to see how you were getting on, friend," was the light and soothing answer, as the stranger drew near the bed. "Head and arm damaged, I hear." "Who told you where to find me?" "Scott. At least, he----" "Scott's a false knave then! He promised me faithfully not to tell a soul." And Bevere's inflamed face and passionate voice presented a contrast to his usual mild countenance and gentle tones. "There's no need to excite yourself," said the tall young man, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking the patient's hand. "Dick Scott let fall a word unawares--that Pitt was attending you. So I came up to Pitt's just now and got the address out of his surgery-boy." "Who else heard the chance word?" "No one else. And I'm sure you know that you may trust me. I wanted to ask if I could do anything for you. How frightened you look, old fellow!" Bevere lay down again, painfully uneasy yet, as was plain to be seen.