It seemed an age before they heard the opening of a door and steps in the hall; and as Isabel started up, listening excitedly, Neil appeared, looking white and anxious. "Go to my father, Aunt," he said, and then drew back to lead Sir Denton into a little room much affected by the young man, half study, half museum, where the surgeon sank into a chair and leaned back gazing at the worn, troubled face before him, as if waiting for his companion to speak. "Well, sir?" he said at last, for Sir Denton remained silent. "Well, Elthorne," said Sir Denton gravely. "Don't trifle with me. I am in agony." "Naturally, my dear fellow, and I am not trifling with you. I only shrank from giving you pain." "Then you think--" began Neil. "No; I am sure, Elthorne. My dear boy, you have not worked with me for years without being able to come to a decision at once upon such a case as this. I can quite understand your feelings. In your horror and despair you mistrusted yourself, or tried to mistrust yourself, hoping, I presume, that you might be wrong, and sent at once for me. Is it not so?" Neil bowed his head; and then quickly, as drowning men catch at straws, he said: "But, Sir Denton, do you feel absolutely certain?" "My dear Elthorne, would to Heaven I could say that there is a doubt. There is none. You know there is none." Neil uttered a low groan. "It comes hard from one who feels toward you as I do, my dear brother," said the old man gently; "but we doctors and surgeons can have no concealment from each other. Your examination must have shown you that the spine is hopelessly injured." "Yes, yes," groaned Neil; "but I clung to the hope that I might be wrong. Then you can give me no hope?" "Yes, I can do that. With careful nursing you may save his life, and he may have many years before him. There will be little physical suffering, and fortunately for him, being a wealthy man, he can palliate much of this by attendants and the many contrivances our mechanicians have invented for the benefit of the injured. It is a terrible case, but nothing compared to what it would be if some poor breadwinner had suddenly been stricken down--a case such as we have seen hundreds of times. Your father has everything to soften the hardship, and, above all, the love of his children." "Then you feel that nothing more can be done?" "Frankly, nothing. It is the greatest kindness to tell you so, Elthorne. As you well know, the treatment is of the simplest. Time, and a thoroughly good, trustworthy nurse. There is the prescription that forty years of earnest study have taught me to offer you." "Yes," said Neil, after a pause, "I felt all this--thanks to your teachings. Poor old father!" he continued as if to himself; "so full of vitality, so determined and energetic, so full of plans, and in an instant all at an end."