"No, Uncle Luke," she whispered, with her lips close to his ear, so that the others should not catch the words, "that is the wrong way, sir. Reverse the fable." "What do you mean, hussy?" "The dear old lion in the ass's skin," she whispered; "and whenever you try to bray it is always a good honest roar." "Well, of all--" He did not finish, for Madelaine had hurried from the room, but a grim smile came over his cynical countenance, and he rubbed his hands softly as if he was pleased. Then, drawing his chair nearer to the bed, he joined in the conversation at rare intervals, the subjects chosen being all as foreign as possible from the past troubles, till Mrs Van Heldre came softly into the room. "I am Doctor Knatchbull's deputy," she said; "and my orders are not to let John excite himself." "All nonsense, my dear," said Van Heldre. "She is quite right, John," said George Vine, rising. "Quite right," said Uncle Luke, following his brother's example. "Keep him quiet. Make haste and get well. Good-night. Come, George." He was at the door by the time he had finished his speech, and without pausing to shake hands began to descend. Madelaine came out of the drawing-room as the old man reached the hail. "What do you think of him?" she said eagerly. "Going backwards--dying fast," he said shortly. "Oh!" "Don't be a little goose," he cried, catching her in his arms as she reeled. "We all are; especially people over fifty. Bonny little nurse. You've done wonders. Good-night, my dear; God bless you!" She returned his loving fatherly kiss, given hastily, as if he were ashamed of his weakness, and then he strode out into the dark night. "Poor Uncle Luke!" she said softly. "I was right. He must have had some shock to change his life like this. Good-night, dear Mr Vine. My dearest love to Louie." "Good-night, my darling," he whispered huskily, and the next minute he was walking slowly away beside his brother in the direction of the turning up to the granite house. "Good-night, Luke," said George Vine. "It is of no use to say come up." "Yes, it is," said Uncle Luke snappishly. "I want to see Louie, and have a decent cup of tea." "I am very glad," said his brother warmly. "Hah! that's right. Come more often, Luke. We are getting old men now, and it's pleasant to talk of the days when we were boys." "And be driven from the place by Madge with her pounce-box and her civet-cat airs. You kick her out, and I'll come often." "Poor Marguerite!" "There you go; encouraging the silly French notions. Why can't you call her Margaret, like a British Christian?" "Let her finish her span in peace, brother," said George Vine, whose visit to his old friend seemed to have brightened him, and made voice and step elastic. "We are crotchety and strange too, I with my mollusc hobby, you with your fishing." "If you want to quarrel, I'm not coming up."