He bent over me with a face full of anxiety. Somehow the mere mention of Greystock's name had an ominous sound in my ears. Even in that moment, I recalled the many plans that had failed;—the seemingly good counsel that had led to no substantial result. In every case William Greystock had been the planner and counsellor, and I could not persuade myself that this meeting with him had been, as my husband thought, a lucky meeting. But those we love best are precisely the people who can never be made to see with our eyes. I knew that Ronald would not be induced to distrust Greystock at my bidding; and as I was still smarting from the consciousness of having spoken unadvisedly once that day, I would not commit a second blunder. So I owned meekly that I was over-tired and over-worn, and let Ronald soothe me and wait on me to his heart's content. I slept soundly that night, the heavy sleep of exhaustion, and when I woke the next morning I had aching limbs and a general sense of languor and weakness. Ronald was full of anxiety, and a self-reproach which he would not put into words. It was a rare thing for me to break down, and it troubled him to see the effort I made to get up to breakfast and seem like my old self. "I wish I had not promised to go to Greystock's office to-day," he said, regretfully. "I don't like leaving you, Louie, although I think I have a chance of getting employment." "Have you, really?" I asked. "Don't think of staying indoors for me, dear; I shall be quite bright when you return. It will be delightful to feel you are a City man, with important business to attend to every day. You are looking much better." "I am gaining my strength, but you are losing yours," he said, kissing me, and keeping back a sigh. We had finished breakfast, but, instead of going out at once, he took up the guitar and ran his fingers across the strings. Again came the soft sweet tune that had no name, the tune which had so often haunted me in my dreams. "What does it mean?" I cried, involuntarily. "I don't know," he said, "I can't help asking myself the same question every time I play it. If I could only remember how I learnt it first, I could solve the mystery." "I think there is something rather fascinating about the mystery," I remarked. "That air always cheers, while it perplexes me. It comes like a suggestion of sunshine. It seems full of promises—promises of what? I wish I knew." Ronald smiled at me as he put down the guitar. "Promises of better fortune,—let us believe that," he said. "But good fortune doesn't always come to those who sit and wait. I am going to seek it in Greystock's office."