“Well, what news?” said one, as though half afraid to ask the question. The new-comer closed the door and came forward. “The Manchester physician has just gone back,” he answered. “Strelitzki has been sent to the Prestwich asylum.” “And the doctors’ verdict?” “Mr. Karne will live.” “Gott sei dank!” ejaculated the man in the corner. He had wanted Herbert Karne to change his name, so that the Angel of Death would be deceived, and pass on without claiming his prey. There was not a man in the room who was not intensely relieved by the news. Each clamoured for further particulars, and went to the Towers to read the bulletin for himself. Once more they were able to enter into their various pastimes and pursuits without feeling that to laugh or chat would be to exhibit callousness or bad taste. A load had been lifted from their hearts. Mr. Karne would live. For nine days he had hovered ’twixt life and death--a time of heartrending anxiety to his sister, who attended him with untiring devotion, and scarcely ate or slept until the crisis had been overcome. On the tenth day Lady Marjorie arrived; and by a coincidence it was on the tenth day that he began to mend. “He will get better quickly now that you are here,” Celia said optimistically; and her prophecy was, happily, fulfilled. Herbert had so much to live for now, that he was determined to make a good fight for life and health. He recovered quickly and thoroughly, quite astonishing Dr. Forrest by his unusual obedience to his orders. Lady Marjorie looked thin and pale; and quite unlike the vivacious little woman of a few months ago. During her stay abroad she had suffered both mentally and physically, the sorrow on her mind having greatly retarded her recovery from the fever. But as her lover grew stronger, she also picked up health. The roses returned to her cheeks, and the sparkle to her eyes; until by degrees she regained the sprightliness which had been hers of old. “It was a good thing Strelitzki did not quite finish me off just as our happiness was on the horizon,” Herbert said to her half playfully one day. “Just imagine if you had come back to find a nice little urn awaiting you, labelled ‘Concentrated essence of Herbert Karne.’ I am an advocate of cremation, you know!” But Marjorie’s eyes filled at the very thought. “Oh, darling, I can’t bear to hear you jest about it,” she rejoined seriously. “If that wretched lunatic had killed you, I should have died too.” And her lover, although he persisted in making light of the whole affair, knew that her words were no vain exaggeration. He began to wonder what Marjorie could see in him, that she should love him so. He considered himself quite the luckiest man in the world.