Mr. Dacres was at home. He knew the young men slightly, and had seen Ethel before. This sudden incursion must have been a trial to an unmarried man, advanced in years; but he met it bravely, summoning at once his capable housekeeper to see what could be done. Hot water, hot flannels, anything they might need, were at their service. The gardener was sent, rushing at his utmost speed, to summon Dr. Duncan, or any doctor who could be found, from Newton Bury, for this hamlet did not own a medical man. Little dreamt any of them that Dr. Duncan was even then within a few minutes' walk, hurrying along the bank in search of Ethel. Malcolm knew something, at least in theory, of what had to be done in such an emergency. The housekeeper and a girl who worked under her were willing enough to follow his directions. They removed Ethel's wet clothes, wrapping her in warm blankets before the kitchen fire, with vigorous rubbing. Nigel and Malcolm waited in the passage while these things were done; and then, as all efforts failed, they stole back into the kitchen, Malcolm to assist in rubbing, Nigel to watch the still face with despairing eyes. Dr. Duncan could not come yet. Half-an-hour more was the shortest time possible. But as they said and thought this, the door opened, and James Duncan walked in. No needless words were spoken. Dr. Duncan bent over Ethel, listening to the heart, feeling the pulse, lifting the eyelids to look into the eyes. Then his glance fell upon Nigel's face, and a slight change crept into his calmness, as if he had seen something unexpected. "Not dead," he pronounced. "Thank God!" Malcolm said fervently. No answering sound came from Nigel, and the doctor's glance fell on him again. "We are too many here. The less the better. Yes, go for a little while—" to Malcolm. Then in a lower voice, "Take that poor fellow into another room." "But there is hope?" "I trust so. We have no time to lose. Now, Mrs. Willis—" Malcolm did not wait for more. He had complete faith in Duncan's skill and kindness. Mr. Dacres lingered, while Malcolm slipped an arm through Nigel's, and drew him from the kitchen regions into the clergyman's little study. "Cheer up," he said gravely. "It will not be so bad, Nigel,—thank God. Dr. Duncan does not fear the worst. Cheer up, my dear fellow; we may hope now." Nigel had never broken quite down through all the pain and grief of past months; but he broke down now. His face was hidden, bowed low on his crossed arms, and the whole frame shook. No sobs were audible, yet Malcolm knew what it meant. He drew the bolt softly, for none but himself might see this; and he could only look on in silence, with eyes full of tears, till the worst was over.