"So well that I feel myself an impostor when I am treated as an invalid." "I may go then; but it will only be to hurry back," said Allan. His heart beat faster at the thought of an hour with Suzette--an hour in which to look into the frank bright face, to see the truthful eyes looking up at him in all confidence and love, to be assured that three weeks' absence had made no difference, that not the faintest cloud had come between them in their first parting. Yes, he longed to see her, with a lover's heart-sickness. Deeply, tenderly as he treasured every hour of his father's society, he felt that he must steal just as much time from his home duty as would give him one hour with Suzette. He pored over time-tables, and so planned his journey as to leave Fendyke in the afternoon of one day, and to return in time for luncheon the day after. This was only to be effected by leaving Matcham at daybreak; but a young man who was in the habit of leaving home in the half-light of a September dawn to ride ten miles to a six-o'clock meet was not afraid of an early train. He caught a fast evening train for Salisbury, and was at Matcham soon after eight. He had written to General Vincent to announce his intention of looking in after dinner, apologizing in advance for so late a visit. His intention was to take a hasty meal, dress, and drive to Marsh House; but at Beechhurst he found a note from the General inviting him to dinner, postponed till nine o'clock on his account; so he made his toilet in the happiest mood, and arrived at Marsh House ten minutes before the hour. He found Suzette alone in the drawing-room, and had her all to himself for just those ten minutes which he had gained by extra swiftness at his toilet. For half those minutes he had the gentle fluttering creature in his arms, the dark eyes full of tears, the innocent heart all tenderness and sympathy. "Why would not you let me go to you, Allan?" she remonstrated. "I wanted to be with you and Lady Emily in your trouble. I hope you don't think I am afraid of sickness or sorrow, where those I love are concerned." "Indeed, dearest, I give you credit for all unselfishness. But I was advised against your visit. The hazard was too awful." "What hazard, Allan?" "The possibility of my father's sudden death." "Oh, Allan, my poor, poor boy! Is it really as bad as that? How sad for you! And you love him so dearly, I know." "I hardly knew how dearly till this great terror fell upon me. Nothing less than my love for a father whom I must lose too soon--whom I may lose very soon--would have kept me from you so long, Suzette. And now I am only here for a few hours, to see you, to hear you, to hold you in my arms, and to assure myself that there is such a person; to make quite sure that the Suzette who is in my thoughts by day and in all my dreams by night is not a brilliant hallucination--the creature of my mind and fancy." "I am very real, I assure you--full of human faults."