"Sir Humphrey, uncle--the doctor," replied Stephen, and the great doctor came a little nearer and felt the faint pulse. "What's he stopping for?" gasped the old man. "What can he do, and--why don't he go?" "We must not leave you, uncle, till you are better." A faint flame shot up in the old man's eyes. "Better, that's a lie, you know. You always were----" Then a paroxysm of faintness took him, but he struggled with and overcame it. "Is--is--Jack here?" he asked. "I regret to say," he replied, "that he is not. I cannot understand the delay. I hope, I fervently hope, that he has not willfully----" "Did you tell him I was dying?" asked Ralph, watching him keenly. "Can you doubt it?" murmured Stephen, meekly. "I particularly charged the messenger to say that my cousin was not to delay." The old man looked up with a sardonic smile. "I'll wait," he muttered, and he closed his eyes resolutely. The minutes passed, and presently there was a low knock at the door, and a servant crept up to Stephen. "Mr. Newcombe is below, sir." Stephen looked warningly at the bed, and stole on tiptoe from the room--not that there was any occasion to go on tiptoe, for his ordinary walk was as noiseless as a cat's--down the old treadworn stairs, into the neglected hall, and entered the library. Bolt upright, and looking very like a Savage indeed, stood Jack Newcombe. With noiseless step and mournful smile, Stephen entered, closed the door, and held out his hand. "My dear Jack, how late you are!" With an angry gesture Jack thrust his hands in his pockets, and glared wrathfully at the white, placid face. "Late!" he echoed, passionately. "Why didn't you tell me that he was dying?" "Hush!" murmured Stephen, with a shocked look--though if Jack had bellowed in his savagest tone, his voice would not have reached the room upstairs. "Pray, be quiet, my dear Jack. Tell you! Didn't my man give you my message? I particularly told him to describe the state of my uncle's health. Slummers is not apt to forget or neglect messages!" "Messages!" said Jack, with wrathful incredulity; "he gave me none--left none, rather, for I was out. He simply said that the squire wanted to see me." "Dear, dear me," murmured Stephen, regretfully. "I cannot understand it. Do you think the person who took the message delivered it properly? Slummers is so very careful and trustworthy." "Oh," said Jack, contemptuously. "Do you suppose anyone would have forgotten to tell me if your man had told them that the squire was dying? I don't if you do, and I don't believe you do. You're no fool, Stephen, though you have made one of me," and he moved toward the door. "Stay," said Stephen, laying his white hand gently on Jack's arm. "Will you wait a few minutes? Though by some unfortunate accident you were not told how ill my uncle is, I assure you that he is too ill now to be harassed----"