"She is very ill," said Jessie, standing on the threshold of the room, while Leonard remained in the corridor outside. "Dr. Hayle has seen her, and he says she must have perfect quiet--no one is to worry her--no one is to talk to her--the shock she has suffered in this dreadful business has shattered her nerves." "Why can't you say in plain words that she is grieving for the only man she ever loved," asked Leonard. "I am not going to say that which is not true; and which you, better than any one else, know is not true. It is not Angus Hamleigh's death, but the manner of his death, which she feels. Take that to your heart, Mr. Tregonell." "You are a viper!" said Leonard, "and you always were a viper. Tell my wife--when she is well enough to hear reason--that I am not going to be sat upon by her, or her toady; and that as she is going to spend her winter dissolved in tears for Mr. Hamleigh's death, I shall spend mine in South America, with Jack Vandeleur." Three days later his arrangements were all made for leaving Cornwall. Captain Vandeleur was very glad to go with him, upon what he, Jack, pleasantly called "reciprocal terms," Mr. Tregonell paying all expenses as a set-off against his friend's cheerful society. There was no false pride about Poker Vandeleur; no narrow-minded dislike to being paid for. He was so thoroughly assured as to the perfect equitableness of the transaction. On the morning he left Mount Royal, Mr. Tregonell went into the nursery to bid his son good-bye. He contrived, by some mild artifice, to send the nurse on an errand; and while she was away, strained the child to his breast, and hugged and kissed him with a rough fervour which he had never before shown. The boy quavered a little, and his lip drooped under that rough caress--and then the clear blue eyes looked up and saw that this vehemence meant love, and the chubby arms clung closely round the father's neck. "Poor little beggar!" muttered Leonard, his eyes clouded with tears. "I wonder whether I shall ever see him again. He might die--or I--there is no telling. Hard lines to leave him for six months on end--but"--with a suppressed shudder--"I should go mad if I stayed here." The nurse came back, and Leonard put the child on his rocking-horse, which he had left reluctantly at the father's entrance, and left the nursery without another word. In the corridor he lingered for some minutes--now staring absently at the family portraits--now looking at the door of his wife's room. He had been occupying a bachelor room at the other end of the house since her illness.