"Only, if you are bothered, would it not be best now?" She left her seat, and went to his side as she spoke. "It seems a pity to put off. I can't think why you should mind so much my speaking, for indeed I only wished to say that things must go on very much the same as before. Look at me, padre, and try to smile. Won't that be the pleasantest plan? You have always used a part of my income, over since I came to live with you; and you must use it still. I wouldn't deprive you of a penny that you are accustomed to have. Why, it is your due! what else could you expect? I don't know how much it has been—do you, Nigel? About half, you think? But it ought to be more. If you had a thousand a year, padre, the five hundred remaining would be a great deal more than I should ever care to spend. So you see how easily everything can be arranged! Will not that make it all right?" There was no answer except a groan. Fulvia knelt down by his side, looking into his face with a softer and sweeter expression than Nigel could recall having seen in her before—though she could be very sweet at times. "Poor dear padre! I am so sorry. What wicked thing did you suppose I was going to say? But you understand now, don't you?—That my coming of age will make no manner of difference. Except, of course, that I shall have the control of perhaps four or five hundred a year, instead of my dress allowance, and that you will have more—not less—than before! We won't have fusses, or parties, or lawyers, or congratulations, until you are well again. And you will be good, and will see Dr. Duncan, so as to get well quickly. Will that do? Do you mind my having said so much? For, after all, I am your child, am I not? And I couldn't possibly be so still on any other terms. Just think how much I owe to you and madre! Does this put things smooth and straight?" Mr. Browning burst into tears. Such a thing had not been known in the Grange annals! Some men, contrary to common theory, do cry very easily—as easily as some women; but Mr. Browning was not of their number. Even under the pressure of a great sorrow, he would not be known in public to shed a tear. He must have been thoroughly unnerved before he could thus breakdown before his son and Fulvia. Fulvia was so startled as to become white. It was like having the house come down to see Mr. Browning burst into womanly tears, his face hidden, his chest and shoulders heaving. She gave a glance of ghastly astonishment at Nigel, and had no glance in response, for Nigel was watching his father intently with a pair of pained and troubled eyes. What was to be done or said next? Fulvia, kneeling there, began to shake all over. "Padre!" she said, in a tone of expostulation. And then she did the worst thing possible, gave way to tears herself. Perhaps her own "rainy season" was hardly at an end yet. "Oh, what is the matter? What does it mean?" she cried. "I think—I think, perhaps—I had better see—James Duncan," panted Mr. Browning.