Could he despise his betrothed for her want of courage? No! His first thought was professional. This sudden fainting fit was no doubt the evidence of weakened health. Days of patient attendance upon the invalid, nights rendered sleepless by anxiety, had done their work. Lucille’s strength had given way—that change in her appearance and manner which had so much disturbed him was but one of the indications of broken health. And he, who loved her better than life itself, felt himself guilty of cruel neglect in not having ere this discovered the truth. That gentle self-sacrificing spirit was stronger than the fragile frame which was its earthly temple. He lifted her from the ground, placed her in Mr. Sivewright’s easy-chair by the open window, and then rang the bell loudly. Mrs. Wincher came, but entered the room with head flung back, and a lofty air, which might have become Queen Eleanor in the presence of Fair Rosamond. At sight of her unconscious mistress, however, Mrs. Wincher gave a piteous scream, and flew to her side. ‘Whatever have you been and gone and said to this poor dear,’ she exclaimed indignantly, flinging a scornful glance at Lucius, ‘to make her faint dead off like that? I suppose you’ve been accusing _her_ of robbing her grandfather. I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise me if you had.’ ‘Don’t be angry, Mrs. Wincher,’ said Lucius; ‘but bring me some cold water directly, and a little brandy.’ Mrs. Wincher, alarmed for the safety of her mistress, flew to fetch these restoratives, but obeyed Mr. Davoren as it were, under protest, in his professional capacity. A little care restored Lucille to consciousness, but even after she had recovered from her swoon, she seemed strangely shaken, and looked at her lover with an expression full of vague fear. He began to reproach her, with infinite tenderness, for her neglect of her own health. ‘You have been doing too much, darling,’ he said, kissing the pale forehead that rested on his shoulder, ‘and I have been guilty of shameful neglect in allowing you to endanger your health. And now, dear, you must obey orders. You must go straight up to your room and let Wincher help you to bed, and lie there quietly all day long, and be fed with beef-tea and good old port until the colour comes back to those poor pale cheeks.’ Lucille persistently refused compliance with these injunctions. ‘Indeed, indeed, Lucius, there is nothing the matter with me,’ she said earnestly. ‘Nothing the matter when you fainted just now—a sure sign of extreme weakness—especially in one not accustomed to fainting?’ ‘O, that was nothing. You frightened me so with your suggestions of danger.’ ‘Do not be afraid any longer, dearest; there is no danger that can assail you, except the danger of your ruining your health by refusing to be guided by my advice. You want rest, and ought to endeavour to get several hours’ good sleep.’