Field was unexpectedly detained in London. The business that had been responsible for his journey constantly evaded completion, and after he had been gone about a month a letter came, in which he mentioned incidentally that he had a touch of influenza. After this letter a fortnight went by without her hearing from him; and, rendered anxious at last, she wrote to inquire if his silence was attributable to his indisposition--if the latter was of a serious nature. Her mind did not instantaneously grasp the significance of the telegram that she tore open a few hours later. It ran: "My nephew dangerously ill. If you desire to see him, better come.--Porteous." She stood gazing at it. Who had telegraphed? Who---- Then she understood that it was Lucas who was meant. Lucas was "dangerously ill"! She must go to him. She must go at once! She was so staggered by the suddenness of the intelligence that she was momentarily incapable of recollecting when the trains left, or how she should act in order to ascertain. All she realised was that this was Paris, and Lucas lay "dangerously ill" in London, and that she had to reach him. Her head swam, and the little French that she knew seemed to desert her; the undertaking looked enormous--beset with difficulties that were almost insuperable. The stupidity of the _bonne_, for whom she pealed the bell, served to sharpen her faculties a trifle, but she made her preparations as in a dream. When she found herself in the train, it appeared to her unreal that she could be there. The interval had left no salient impressions on her brain, nothing but a confused sense of delay. It was only now that she felt able to reflect. The telegram was crumpled in her pocket, and she took it out and re-read it agitatedly. How did this relative come to be at the hotel? Lucas had scarcely spoken of his relations. "If you desire to see him"! The import of those words was frightful--he could not be expected to recover. Her stupefaction rolled away, and was succeeded by a fever of suspense. The restriction of the compartment was maddening, and she looked at her watch a dozen times, only to find that not ten minutes had passed since she consulted it last. It seemed to her that she had been travelling for at least two days, when she stood outside a bedroom in a little hotel off Bond Street and tapped at the door with her heart in her throat. The door was opened by a woman whose dress proclaimed her to be an institution nurse. Field slept, and Mamie sank into a chair, and waited for his wakening. "How is he?" she asked in a low tone. The nurse shook her head. "He's not doing as well as we could wish, ma'am." "Is Mr. Porteous here?" "_Mrs._ Porteous. She'll be coming presently. She lives close by."