All the morning snow fell; and when lunch was over, it grow into a storm—flakes whirling thickly, clouds low, ground white, wind gusty and strong. The girls congratulated themselves on having bought Fulvia's presents in good time. Mr. Browning was in the lowest depths of depression and misery. It was hard to look upon him unmoved. Dr. Duncan had been to see how he was that morning, and had spoken of the need for mental repose. "If this went on—" he said significantly. But who was to give the mental repose? How were they to minister to this mind diseased? Mr. Browning was like a hunted creature, shrinking before some terrible shadow, from which he might not escape. He could not rest, could not read, could not stay in one place, could not bear the presence of others, could not endure to be alone. His face was shrunken, the lips were blue, the eyes were filled with a nameless apprehension; yet what he feared none knew, and none dared ask. Not a word was spoken in his hearing of the morrow, and not a word spoke he. He knew the date, however; and they all knew that he knew it. "Fulvia's birthday" was written in each line of his haggard cheek and brow. Fulvia sat with him for a while, trying to be cheery, but finding cheeriness no easy matter in the face of his persistent melancholy. If she laughed, he could only groan. Mrs. Browning had a brief respite while she was there, for which all were grateful. Soon, however, Mr. Browning demanded once more his patient wife, and would be content with no other companion. Nigel alone went out. "It was no weather for girls," he said, when Daisy begged to accompany him. He plodded through the heavy snow, all the way to Mr. Carden-Cox's house, and there sat over the fire with the old bachelor, hearing much vague talk about nothing in particular, intermixed with dark and dim hints about the morrow. At first Nigel hardly noticed those. He was unwontedly depressed, feeling the strain of the last few weeks, and little disposed to speak. Then a passing phrase recalled Daisy's warning as to the lawyer, and in a moment Nigel was himself. He had actually come to settle this matter, and had almost lost sight of it in anxious thought about Ethel. "I say, Nigel, that's all very well, my dear fellow," remonstrated Mr. Carden-Cox, when a judicious question had drawn from him a statement of his intentions, and Nigel had represented the peril to Mr. Browning of the proposed action. "I say, that's all very well. I've a sincere regard for your father's health—indubitably—don't wish to do him any harm. Still, right's right and wrong's wrong, and the girl is my own flesh and blood. She must have her due." "Of course—" "And everything ought to be clear and ship-shape at once." "As soon as possible." "To-morrow, I say." "That is the question. As soon as possible," repeated Nigel. "If your father doesn't bring his lawyer forward, I shall bring mine forward—that's all."