“Never say that again--never,” she said, “for I will not listen.” Lady Enid smiled; and Margery bent her lips to the thin, white hand. “Are you comfortable?” she asked, gently. “Quite. Now stay here, Margery, and let us chat together. When the lamps come, I will hear you sing; but this is what I enjoy. I have been thinking to myself, as I lay on my couch, what a delight it would be to find out the truth about your poor young mother. How glad I should be if we could discover a clew!” “I have given up all hope,” Margery responded, dreamily. “Then it is wrong of you,” Lady Enid said, reprovingly, while she stroked Margery’s soft curls caressingly. “I do not mean to do so if you do. I have thought of all sorts of plans; but the best of them all is to put the whole affair into Nugent’s hands.” “But, my dear Lady Enid, your brother, Lord Court, will have other and more important things to employ him.” “Nugent always does anything that gives me pleasure, and this would be pleasure, indeed. You know, Margery, I have written so much about you; and only in his last letter he said he was so delighted to hear that I had at last secured a real friend and companion.” “He is very fond of you, I know,” Margery responded, softly. She knew that on the theme of this beloved brother Lady Enid would talk for hours, and she welcomed any subject that interested the poor young patient, being content herself to listen, for it banished more painful thoughts. “Nugent has loved me as a father, mother, brother, all in one; we were left orphans so young; and, oh, Margery, you could never fathom how dear he is to me! When I was well and could run about I can remember that my greatest treat was to have a holiday with Nugent. Then, when my illness came, and I was crippled for life, it was Nugent who brought all the happiness, all the light into my existence. We were alone in the world, and he treasured me as the greatest jewel till----” Lady Enid paused. “Margery,” she went on, after a brief silence, “I dare say you have often wondered why Nugent does not come home, why he has left me here so long alone?” “I have, sometimes,” confessed Margery. “And you have thought him unkind. Ah, I will not have him judged wrongly! I will tell you why he wanders abroad, leaves his old home and me, his little sister. Yes, I will tell you.” “If it pains you, do not speak of it,” broke in Margery, seeing the pale face contract a little.