“Couldn’t you remain with us?” inquired Miss Mordaunt wistfully. “I don’t mean sit up, for I know you oughtn’t to do that; but if you were sleeping in one of these rooms close to us, it would be a great comfort; and we need not call you unless it is absolutely necessary.” There is not much men will not do for a beautiful woman who knows how to manage them, and Doctor May had long since lost the power of denying Colonel Dacre’s fiancée. He had promised himself elsewhere, but that did not weigh with him for a moment. He had been dreaming wild dreams of late. Hearts were caught in the rebound, and if anything happened to his patient, why should not he take his place? Of course there was a great disparity between them, socially speaking; but he knew cases in which this had been ignored, and Miss Mordaunt did not appear the kind of person to stop at anything when she loved. He was ashamed of himself, but he could not help the thought. It is the fate of women who are so wondrously fair to make all the men who come in contact with them either dolts or knaves. He turned to her with a faint smile. “I will certainly remain if it is any comfort to you. I will go at once and see a few of my most pressing cases, and then return.” “I can never thank you enough,” she murmured. “It will be such a great relief to feel that you are near.” By ten o’clock Doctor May had come back, and they had settled in the sick-room for the night. Doctor May had refused to lie down, and insisted upon keeping them company, the truth being that he was too much interested in the denouement to feel as if he could sleep. There was a slight restlessness in Colonel Dacre’s manner, but he still remained unconscious; and Miss Mordaunt sat beside his pillow, with her anxious, beautiful eyes fixed persistently on his white face. On the opposite side Doctor May watched, too--not the patient, but her--while nurse, relieved from all responsibility, dozed comfortably. At last the sick man’s eyelids began to tremble, and Miss Mordaunt held her very breath for eagerness. Finally he opened his eyes full upon her, and said, languidly but without surprise: “Are you here, Gwen?” “Hush!” she answered, with a thankfulness far too deep for outward expression. “You must not talk; must he, Doctor May?” Doctor May was as pale as the sick man, as he lifted his head to answer: “Certainly not. The best thing for Colonel Dacre now is sleep. Give him a few spoonfuls of beef tea, and then keep him as quiet as you can. As I am not wanted any more, I’ll go and lie down.” The girl looked radiant, and there were tears of gratitude in her dark eyes. “I can’t talk about things to-night,” she followed him to the door to say; “but if ever there should be any way in which I could serve you----” “Thank you, Lady Gwendolyn,” he answered, with peculiar gravity; “you have paid me the greatest compliment in your power by trusting me with your secret.” “Oh! I wasn’t the least afraid.”