“Well,” said Dr. Beaton, rubbing his hands as he came forward, “at last we are tolerably comfortable. I have got him to bed without much more difficulty than usual, and I hope he will have a good night. But how cold it is here! I suppose, however careful you may be, it is impossible to keep draughts out of an apartment that communicates with the open air. If you will take my advice, Miss Rosalind, you will get to your warm room, and to bed, while your uncle and I adjourn to the smoking-room, where there are creature comforts--” The doctor was always cheerful. He laughed as if all the incidents of the evening had been the most pleasant in the world. “Is papa better, doctor?” “Is Mrs. Trevanion with my brother?” These two questions were asked together. The doctor answered them both with a “Yes--yes--where would she be but with him? My dear sir, you are a visitor, you are not used to our ways. All that is just nothing. He cannot do without her. We know better, Miss Rosalind; we take it all very easy. Come, come, there is nothing to be disturbed about. I will have you on my hands if you don’t mind. My dear young lady, go to bed.” “I have been proposing that she should go to her aunt for a week or two for a little change.” “The very best thing she could do. This is the worst time of the year for Highcourt. So much vegetation is bad in November. Yes--change by all means. But not,” said the doctor, with a little change of countenance, “too long, and not too far away.” “Do you think,” said Rosalind, “that mamma will not want me to-night? then I will go as you say. But if you think there is any chance that she will want me--” “She will not leave the patient again. Good-night, Miss Rosalind, sleep sound and get back your roses--or shall I send you something to make you sleep? No? Well, youth will do it, which is best.” She took her candle, and went wearily up the great staircase, pausing, a white figure in the gloom, to wave her hand to Uncle John before she disappeared in the gallery above. The two men stood and watched her without a word. A tender reverence and pity for her youth was in both their minds. There was almost an oppression of self-restraint upon them till she was out of sight and hearing. Then John Trevanion turned to his companion: “I gather by what you say that you think my brother worse to-night.” “Not worse to-night; but only going the downhill road, and now and then at his own will and pleasure putting on a spurt. The nearer you get to the bottom the greater is the velocity. Sometimes the rate is terrifying at the last.” “And you think, accordingly, that if she goes away it must not be too far; she must be within reach of a hasty summons?” Dr. Beaton nodded his head several times in succession. “I may be mistaken,” he said, “there is a vitality that fairly surprises me; but that is in any other case what I should say.” “Have these outbursts of temper much to do with it? Are they accelerating the end?”