“Come in,” said a woman’s voice, and O’Flaherty found himself in the presence of a pretty girl, fully dressed, seated in a basket armchair and busily engaged in tearing up letters. A dressing-bag half stuffed with things stood on a chair. -------------- Half an hour later, coming downstairs, Dr O’Flaherty met General Grampound in the hall. “Well, doctor,” said the General, drawing him into the library, “what’s the diagnosis?” “Just a chill.” “Will she be able to leave here to-morrow?” “She will,” replied the other, with a twinkle in his eye; “and, what’s more, she’s anxious to go.” “Hum! Have you seen my friend Boxall?” “No,” replied the doctor, “but he saw me.” “How do you know?” “Through the keyhole, for he bolted his door.” “I can’t make out what’s wrong with the man,” said General Grampound. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXXVI PREPARATIONS “Mr Fanshawe!” It was just before the first dinner gong, and Mr Fanshawe was in the billiard-room alone practising strokes. He was horribly nervous and depressed. That nervous depression had seized him which sometimes comes as the herald of disaster, sometimes simply from over-wrought nerves. Only seven hours or so lay between him and the great moment of his life. He had done everything that could be done. Larry Lyburn had fallen in with everything, and had declared himself willing to carry out instructions to the minutest detail; he had received a sovereign on account, and the promise of two more on starting. Fly-by-night, a great roan mare, had been inspected and approved. Mr Fanshawe was to drive, and Larry to sit behind. That the job would most likely lose Larry his place never occurred to that individual, but it did to Mr Fanshawe, and he had stated his intention of taking Mr Lyburn into his service, and pensioning him, if need be, should trouble ensue, to which statement of intention Larry had replied: “Yes, sor.” Despite all this Mr Fanshawe felt nervous. He would have felt more nervous still had he known that Larry had spent some of his largesse on a bottle of whisky. “Mr Fanshawe!” “Hullo!” said Mr Fanshawe. “There’s no one here?” said Doris; “that’s all right. I have a note for you. It’s from her,” said Doris, as Mr Fanshawe opened the note. “Courage, darling—I am quite prepared. I will be ready dressed waiting at two. I will come down to the hall just as the big clock strikes.—Ever, V.” Mr Fanshawe read. “She’s told me about it,” said Doris; “and I’m going to see you off, and Bob’s coming too.” “Good gracious!” said Mr Fanshawe, “is it safe?” “Quite; we won’t make a bit of noise. No one sleeps on our landing but Biddy, and she sleeps in the room with Selina, and _nothing_ wakes her.”