He mused a little. Somehow it was more difficult than he had believed to convey to her the information he had desired to hint at. He entered upon another topic. “Have you ever been advised, Lady Monica, to try what the German baths could do for Arthur? Very wonderful cures sometimes are accomplished there.” She raised her head suddenly, with something of a flash in her eyes. “Tom Pendrill has been talking to you!” “Indeed, no.” “That is what he wants—what he is always driving at. He does not care how my poor boy suffers, if only he has the pleasure of experimenting upon him for the benefit of science. I will not have it. It would kill him, it would kill me. You do not know how he suffers in being moved; a journey like that would be murder. He can live nowhere but at Trevlyn—Trevlyn or the neighbourhood, at least. Promise me never to suggest such a thing, never to take sides against me in it. Mr. Trevlyn, I appeal to your honour and your humanity. Promise me never to league with Tom Pendrill to send Arthur away to die!” He had never seen her so vehement or excited. He was astonished at the storm he had aroused. “Indeed, Lady Monica, you may trust me,” he said. “I have not the least wish to distress you, or to urge anything in opposition to your wishes. The idea merely occurred to me, because I happen to have heard of many wonderful cures. But I will never allude to the subject again if it distresses you. It is certainly not for me to dictate to you as to the welfare of your brother.” The flush of excitement had faded from Monica’s face. She turned it towards him with something of apology and appeal. “Forgive me if I spoke too hastily,” she said, with a little quiver in her voice which he thought infinitely pathetic, “but I have so few to love, and the thought of losing them is so very sad. And then Tom has so often frightened me about Arthur and taking him away; and I know that I understand him better than anybody else, though I am not a doctor, nor a man of science.” He looked at her with grave sympathy. “I think that is highly possible, Lady Monica. You may trust me to say or do nothing that could give you anxiety or pain.” “Thank you,” answered Monica with unusual gentleness. “I do trust you.” His heart thrilled with gladness at those simple words. They had almost reached the church now, and Monica paused at the edge of the cliff, turning her gaze seawards, a strange, sad wistfulness upon her face. Her companion watched her in silence. “There will be a storm before long,” she said at last. The air was curiously clear and still, and the sea the same; yet there was a sullen booming sound far below that sounded threatening and rather awful. “You are weather-wise, Lady Monica?” he asked with a smile. “I ought to be,” she answered, turning away at length with a long drawn breath. “I know our sea so well, so very well.” And then she walked on and entered the church by her own little door, leaving Randolph musing alone without.