Nigel could not protest or refuse. He could only give himself over into her capable care-taking hands; too ill for more speech, yet all the while dimly conscious of a certain sense of possession in the touch of those same hands. Was it consciousness or fancy? Nigel did not know. It might have been either. He was obviously in no condition for the careful weighing of evidence. One thought only was clear—one little sentence from Ethel's paper— "To sacrifice self, as an habitual law, in each sudden call to action." It haunted him for hours, together with Ethel's face. CHAPTER XX AN UTTER TANGLE "O life, O death, O world, O time, O grave, where all things flow, 'Tis yours to make our lot sublime, With your great weight of woe."—TRENCH. DAYS passed, and nobody yet knew the state of family affairs. Nigel was confined to his room by a "severe feverish attack"—not surprising under the circumstances. Business talk in his presence was tabooed; and Fulvia said not a word elsewhere. Not a soul, beyond herself and Nigel, knew aught of the dying man's utterances, aught of the letter he had left, aught of the vanished wealth. Newton Bury never doubted that the Brownings would still be extremely well off. In a general way Mr. Carden-Cox would very early have set himself to ferret out something, more especially when goaded on by previous suspicion. Mr. Carden-Cox, however, had not been to the Grange since the afternoon of Fulvia's birthday. He knew that others must blame him for Albert Browning's fatal attack of illness, and he could not endure to be blamed. Inwardly, he suffered sore remorse; outwardly, he would have defended his own conduct through thick and thin. There was nothing for it but flight, and he did flee. Thirty-six hours after Albert Browning's death saw him in his old Burrside lodgings, in glum and miserable enjoyment of solitude. At the Grange his absence was scarcely regretted, for interviews must needs have been painful. Mr. Carden-Cox did not return for the funeral, and Nigel could not be present—no small grief to Nigel's mother. He was unable to lift his head from the pillow when that day came. Mrs. Browning stayed with him, and the three girls went, as did many Newton Bury friends. Much sympathy had been shown to the Brownings in their trouble. The very idea of any possible slur upon the honoured name of Albert Browning had not so much as occurred to any one outside their immediate circle—if one includes in that circle Mr. Carden-Cox and Dr. James Duncan. Albert Browning had left no will, had appointed no executors. All arrangements, therefore, devolved upon his son, to whom it was known he had left written directions or advice in the form of a letter. Mrs. Browning had not been told even so much as this. Arrangements had to wait until Nigel could give his mind to them. So nearly another week passed after the funeral; and then Nigel came again into the stream of everyday life.