On the landing Barbara’s self-control completely forsook her. She began to cry in a terrified, painful sort of way. Tarbot heard her sobs and went out. “Now, this is wrong,” he said, speaking in his most professional manner. “Of course it is all terribly sad, but Dr. Williamson and Sir Richard Spears and I expected the child’s death. His heart was terribly affected. Had he lived he would never have been strong, and would have suffered much. Although he was rich, his life would not have been a happy one. I did not think death would have been quite so sudden, but—— By the way, Miss Evershed, can you control yourself?” “I will try to,” said Barbara. “Will you do something for me?” “What?” “Will you break this terrible news to Mrs. Pelham?” “Oh, I cannot, I cannot,” said the girl, trembling and covering her face. “That means that you will not? You are, I know, a brave woman. Ought you to think of yourself in a moment like this?” The girl colored; then drew herself together. “You do right to remind me,” she said. “I would not be a coward for the world. If you think it right, I will go to her.” “I do. I knew you had plenty of pluck.” Barbara glanced up at Pelham. There was an expression on his face which she had never seen there before. It puzzled and terrified her. “Go, dearest,” he said, bending down and kissing her on the forehead. “Go. God help you! God help us both!” Barbara ran down-stairs. “Pelham, this is a grand thing for you,” said Tarbot. “I forbid you to speak of the change in my prospects to-night,” said the young man impetuously. “I cannot stand this—it all looks——” “What do you mean?” “The least said, soonest mended,” said Pelham. “I am in no fit state to speak to any one now. I will leave you, Dr. Tarbot. I can do no good here. I will come back in the morning.” He rushed down-stairs, and the next instant let himself out of the house. Tarbot remained on the landing a moment; then he returned to the boy’s nursery. Already over the features of the child that look of repose had crept which only death is supposed to give. The nurse was beginning to lay out the little body. She now stood still awaiting the doctor’s directions. “Death has come rather sooner than I expected,” said Dr. Tarbot. “It was doubtless due to shock—the shock which caused death was the sudden appearance on the scene of Sir Richard Pelham.” The nurse stood up and stared full at Tarbot. She made no reply. There was a scornful expression round her lips. “It is best that we should talk in this strain,” said Tarbot, dropping his voice. “I repeat, the shock which caused death was the sudden appearance on the scene of Sir Richard Pelham.” “I don’t think so; the boy was fond of his cousin.” “He was; but love is too mighty an emotion when life ebbs so low. We should never have pulled him through. Well, nurse, it is a fine thing for Sir Richard.” “I fail to understand you,” said the nurse. Then she added significantly, “I have done my part well?”