“Give me your arm up the steps, North,” said Sir Dugald, looking at Dick in a puzzled, almost appealing fashion. “I don’t feel very well. Is Anstruther there?” “Yes, sir. Do you want him to write anything?” “Yes. It must be done at once.” They had reached the top of the steps, and the horrified group on the terrace saw that Sir Dugald’s face was working strangely, and that his lips were twitching and refused to be controlled. “Dugald,” cried his wife, rushing to him, “you are ill! Come indoors and lie down;” but he pushed her away from him with a shaking hand. “Not yet, not yet,” he said, impatiently. “Sit down, Anstruther, and write. Quick!” as the boy’s frightened fingers bungled over their task. “Say this: ‘Fearing the approach of severe illness, I hereby appoint Egerton Stratford to the command of this Mission until her Majesty’s pleasure is known, charging him----’” here he became incapable of speech for a moment, and passed his hand over his lips to steady them--“‘to secure, if possible, the conclusion of the treaty originally agreed upon; but in any case to conduct the Mission back to British territory without provoking, for any cause whatever, a conflict with the Ethiopian authorities.’ Now let me sign it.” He sat down heavily in the chair which Fitz vacated, and groaned aloud as the pen dropped from his fingers. “Let me guide your hand, dearest,” whispered Lady Haigh, restoring him the pen; but once more he motioned her aside, and, steadying his right hand with his left, succeeded, with infinite difficulty, in inscribing his name in large crooked characters. [image: images/img_06.jpg caption: He succeeded, with infinite difficulty, in inscribing his name in large crooked characters.] “Now witness it. Witness it all of you,” he said, with feverish anxiety, and they all added their names to the paper as witnesses. When the last signature was written Sir Dugald’s head sank on his breast, and Lady Haigh darted to his side with a cry which none of those who heard it will ever forget. “Dugald, not _dead_? and without a word to me!” “Dear Lady Haigh,” said Georgia, gaining her voice first, and choking back her tears, “he is not dead. I think it is some kind of paralytic seizure. He may recover very soon. If we can get him indoors I shall be able to see better what it is.” “If you will take his left arm, Mr Stratford,” said Lady Haigh, in a hard, even voice, “we can support him to his room. Please come with us, Georgie.” Dick stepped forward to offer his help, but Lady Haigh refused to relinquish her position, and she and Stratford half-carried the unconscious form across the terrace and into the house. It struck those who were left behind with a fresh pang as they realised that in the course of the past few weeks Sir Dugald’s iron-grey hair had turned quite white. “What do you think?” asked Dick, when Stratford returned presently and sat down in silence.