"Yes," said Alison eagerly; "but tell me what you are going to do." "Send for Sir Denton Hayle." "Will he come?" "If I ask him--yes." The message was written and sent off. The Lydons, after waiting till after noon, had shaken hands with the brothers, and said they were very sorry, and then accepted Sir Cheltnam's escort home. Neil, who had left his father's side for a few minutes to say good-bye, heaved a sigh and turned to go back. "They don't seem very much broken-hearted about the poor old dad, Neil," said Alison. "No," cried his brother, flashing out angrily. "I wonder sometimes whether--no, no, we can't discuss that now, with him lying like that," he added hastily, and he went back into the house to find that Beck still lingered. Neil looked at him reproachfully and the young sailor caught his arm. "I have not gone," he said. "I'm staying in case I can be of any use." "Thanks," said Neil shortly. Then a thought struck him, and he turned back. "Did you speak to my father?" he said. Beck nodded. "What did he say?" "That it was impossible." Neil went hastily toward the room where his father had been carried, and found his sister listening by the door. "You here, Isabel?" he said. "Yes, dear," she whispered in broken tones. "Let me go in and see poor papa now." "No, my child, not yet." "But, Neil, I am not a child now. You have let Aunt Anne be with him." "Well, she is older, and experienced, dear. Pray be patient. You will be helping me then." "Yes, Neil," she said with a sigh, and she reached up and kissed him. "That is my darling sister," he said tenderly. "But, Neil, dear, one word--pray tell me the truth. Will papa get better?" "Heaven only knows, dear," he said solemnly. "He is very badly hurt." He passed through the door, and closed it after him almost without a sound, and then stopped to gaze on the scene before him, feeling a glow of warmth in his breast toward his Aunt, who, in their freedom from anxiety, had always seemed to him a weak, self-indulgent woman. But self was evidently forgotten now as she knelt beside her brother's couch, holding one of his hands against her breast, and watching the pale, slightly drawn face as if her life depended upon her noting the slightest change. "Has he moved, Aunt?" said Neil softly. She started violently. "O Neil, dear!" she exclaimed, "I did not hear you. No, no, no," she cried, with a burst of sobbing, "he's dying! My poor brother! What shall I do?" "Be patient and helpful, Aunt, dear. We must not think of our now sufferings now." "Yes, my dear, and I will, indeed I will. But, Neil, my love," she whispered, as she caught his hand and held it in both hers; "don't think me unkind. I know what a good, clever boy you are, but don't you think you ought to send for a real doctor?"