He had but faint hopes of his own recovery; everything was against it. He knew that this could not be helped, and he was very patient. If he had good wine, wholesome delicacies to tempt his appetite, instead of gruesome scraps of stale, ill-cooked meat and poisonous port at a shilling; if he could have a change to pure, invigorating air, he might yet have a chance. And he knew that he might as well long for the moon--for the entire firmament! “What is to be done, Laurence?” asked Madeline, rather surprised at his long silence. “What do you think of it?” “You must go, of course,” he returned at last. “Go to-day.” “To-day! My dear Laurence, what are you thinking of?” sitting down on a rush chair as she spoke, and staring at him in amazement. “Where is the money to come from? Look here,” producing a shabby little purse, with a brass clasp, and turning out the pitiably small contents, “all I possess is two and sevenpence.” “Still you must go, Maddie, by hook or crook; much may depend on it. A return third-class----” “A return third-class would be twenty-two shillings--one pound two,” she interrupted. “And, besides, I could not go in this,” looking down at her gown; “now,” appealingly, “could I?” “No, you could not,” he replied, with a little flush on his pale face. “And you must get something out. To get something out something else must go in. And,” speaking with an effort, “I never thought to part with them, but they could not go in a better cause. I mean,” wiping his damp forehead, “my mother’s miniature and my father’s medals. The miniature is framed in seed pearls; the back is gold--it ought to fetch a couple of pounds. It’s in my desk, Maddie, in a little morocco case.” There were other things in his desk--neatly-copied-out manuscripts. These, alas! were valueless--he had proved them. “Take it, my dear, and welcome; and the medals--they will fetch a few shillings.” “Oh, Laurence,” suddenly kneeling down beside him, “I don’t like to! Must I really? I know you think so much of them. They are the only relics you possess. No, no; I really can’t!” “Yes, you can, and you shall,” said the sick man, with sudden decision. “Here, at last, is an opening for you, my poor Maddie. Something tells me that your father is alive--is coming home rich. You are his only child, his heiress. You will be looked after and cherished when I am gone. Yes, my dear, it will be best for you in the end. It was most wicked of me to marry you. I see it all now, only too plainly. I had put by nothing for such a strait, and I had no wealthy friends. But I never dreamt that it would come to this, Maddie; believe me, I never did. Forgive me!” he urged, and tears, born of weakness and remorse, stood in his hollow eyes. “Laurence!” she interrupted, attempting to place her hand on his mouth.