"Rest! Rest! A dose of poison is all I want, ---- you! Don't look at me like that, ---- _you_!" to his wife, who stood watching with her hands tightly clasped as though to hold in her emotions. She walked away to the window and stood looking out. "Carew, you--must--be--quiet. You're doing yourself harm," said the Doctor authoritatively. "Man, I'm in hell. Poison me, and make an end!" "Not till tomorrow, anyway. I'll run down and get that draught. We'll see about the other in the morning." Mrs Carew turned as he left the room, and followed him out, and the sick man sank back with a groan and a curse. "Will he die?" she asked quickly, as she closed the door behind them. "Not necessarily. But if he lives he'll be crippled for life." "He would sooner die than live like that." "We can't help that. It's my business to keep him alive. I'll run down and mix him a draught which may give him some rest. You'll need assistance. He may go off his head. He's a bad patient. I'll send you someone up----" "Not Jane Pinniger then. I won't have her." He knitted his brows at her. "It was Jane I was thinking of. She's an excellent nurse, both brains and brawn, and he may get violent in the night." "I won't have her here," said Elinor obstinately, and he remembered that gossip had, not so very long ago, been busy with the names of Pasley and Jane, as she had at other times occupied herself with Pasley and many another. Undoubtedly Elinor had had much to bear. "All right! If I can find anyone else----" he began. "I won't have Jane Pinniger here,"--and he went off at speed to get the draught and find a substitute for Jane if that were possible. His doubts on that head were justified. He sent his boy up with the draught, and started on the search for a nurse who should combine a modicum of intelligence with the necessary strength of mind and body. But his choice was very limited. Old crones there were, satisfactory enough in their own special line and in a labourer's cottage, but useless for a job such as this. There was nothing for it at last but to go back to the Hall and tell Mrs Carew that it was Jane or nobody. "Nobody then," said she decisively. "I will manage with one of the girls from downstairs, and young Job to help." "Young Job is all very well with the dogs----" "He will do very well for this too. We may not require him, but he can be at hand in case of need," and he had to leave it at that. V Carew suffered much, more in mind even than in body. The thought of lying there like a damned log, as he put it, for the rest of his days filled him with most passionate resentment, and drove him into paroxysms of raging fury. He cursed everything under the sun and everyone who came near him, with a completeness and finality of invective which, if it had taken effect or come home to roost, would have blighted himself and all his surroundings off the face of the earth.