'I must apologise for this intrusion, Captain Burnett,' began Cyril quickly; 'but I wanted to speak to you particularly. Were you asleep? I am so sorry if I have disturbed you.' 'No, nonsense. I only felt drowsy because I have been out in this cold wind and the room is so warm. Take a chair, Blake. I shall be wide awake in a moment. Have you seen the paper to-day? There is nothing in it, only a remarkably stupid article on Bismarck.' 'I will look at it by and by; but to tell you the truth, I have come to speak to you about my mother. I am seriously uneasy about her: either she is ill, or there is something grievously wrong. I understood from Mollie that you were with her for more than an hour yesterday; in fact, that she sent for you.' The fire had burnt hollow during Michael's brief nap, and he seized this opportunity to stir it vigorously into a blaze; it afforded him a momentary respite. A few seconds' reflection convinced him, however, that it was no use beating about the bush with a man of Cyril's calibre. The truth had to be told, and no amount of preparation would render it palatable. 'You are right,' he returned quietly; 'Mrs. Blake sent for me. She thought that I should be able to help her in a difficulty.' Cyril looked intensely surprised. 'I thought Mollie must have made a mistake. It seems very strange that my mother----' He stopped as though civility did not permit him to finish his sentence. But Michael perfectly understood him. 'It seems strange to you; of course it does. My acquaintance with Mrs. Blake is so slight that it certainly gives me no right to her confidence; but she was in trouble--in great trouble, I may say--and chance threw me in her way, and so----' But here Cyril interrupted him. 'My mother in trouble!' he returned incredulously, but Michael thought he looked a little pale; 'excuse me, Captain Burnett, if I seem rude, but from a boy I have been my mother's friend. She has never kept anything from me. I find it almost impossible to believe that she would give that confidence to a comparative stranger which she would refuse to her son. May I beg you to speak plainly? I abhor mysteries.' Cyril spoke impatiently and curtly; his tone was almost displeased. But Michael took no offence; he regarded the young man very kindly. 'I abhor them too,' he replied gravely; 'but I want you to understand one thing: it was a mere chance that brought me in Mrs. Blake's way at a moment when she needed assistance; I was only like any other stranger who sees a lady in difficulty. Now I have told you this I can speak more plainly.' 'I wish to heavens you would!' returned Cyril with growing excitement. 'Do you know the impression you are giving me?--that there is some mysterious confidence between you and my mother. Is it too much to ask if I may know what this difficulty and trouble mean?'