“In that case you had better leave me alone with Lady Fairfax; but bring the doctor the instant he comes.” “But I’d better stay, sir; I had, indeed.” “No--no,” he returned impatiently, “go--go at once. You can be of no use here.” This whispered conversation was unnoticed by Alice, who was bending over Maurice, fanning him. With watch in hand, Sir Reginald stood at one side of the child, whilst his wife knelt at the other. Maurice seemed weaker and weaker. Alice looked at her husband and read in his face that he shared her worst fears. Her child was dying. She leant over her boy in an agony of tearless grief. “Oh, my darling Maurice!” she cried almost frantically, “don’t die, don’t leave me! you are all I have in the world!” looking at him with distracted eyes and wringing her small thin hands. “If you are taken I will go with you. I won’t, no, I won’t live without you!” “Alice, Alice!” remonstrated her husband; “think of what you are saying.” Suddenly rising, she took the child up in her arms and carried him to the window. “At least he shall die in my arms,” she said. “Yes, he shall!” she exclaimed excitedly. “But he is not dying now,” said Sir Reginald. “Give him to me for a little; he is much too heavy for you. Remember, whilst there’s life there’s hope.” “No--no--no! Do not take him from me for the little time he may be left. Oh, my own darling, how you are suffering! If I could only bear it for you; if I might only die in your stead!” she moaned, rocking the boy in her arms. “How glad I am that they say I am so weak and delicate; I will soon follow you, my treasure.” Sir Reginald, leaning against the window-shutter, listened to his half-distracted wife in silence. “I know you think that I am wicked, that I am insane,” continued Alice; “but if he dies I will die too; it will kill me.” And she turned on him a look akin to madness and despair. “Alice, am I nothing to you, then?” “You! You are only the shadow of my husband. No; you are nothing to me; you said so yourself,” she murmured as she kissed her boy’s hands convulsively. “I know that I am nothing to you but the shadow of a husband. Deeply as you have injured me, what else could I be? But consider me now--for the next few hours at least--the husband I _would_ have been to you, and let me comfort you, my dearest. If your child is taken, who can share your grief like me--his father? and if he is spared--as I sincerely trust he will be--who can so deeply feel the happiness of having him restored? His pulse is still pretty strong,” he added, taking the child’s little hand in his. “The doctor will be here in five minutes. Do not give up all hope yet, my poor Alice.” “Oh Reginald,” she said gratefully, “you have lifted a little of the load off my heart; you have comforted me already.” At this instant the door opened, and the doctor and nurse came into the room; the former bustled over to the side of Maurice’s cot.