“Oh, not so, not so!” was the eager reply. “To me it seems to clear away much of the cloud that hangs over the world’s history. When this view first made itself clear to me, I remember walking out into the fields, repeating to myself that line of Tennyson ‘_There seemed no room for sense of wrong!_’ The thought, that perhaps the real guilt of the human race was infinitely less than I fancied it—that the millions, whom I had thought of as sunk in hopeless depths of sin, were perhaps, in God’s sight, scarcely sinning at all—was more sweet than words can tell! Life seemed more bright and beautiful, when once that thought had come! ‘_A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass, A purer sapphire melts into the sea!_’” His voice trembled as he concluded, and the tears stood in his eyes. Lady Muriel shaded her face with her hand, and was silent for a minute. “It is a beautiful thought,” she said, looking up at last. “Thank you—Arthur, for putting it into my head!” The Earl returned in time to join us at tea, and to give us the very unwelcome tidings that a fever had broken out in the little harbour-town that lay below us—a fever of so malignant a type that, though it had only appeared a day or two ago, there were already more than a dozen down in it, two or three of whom were reported to be in imminent danger. In answer to the eager questions of Arthur—who of course took a deep scientific interest in the matter—he could give very few _technical_ details, though he had met the local doctor. It appeared, however, that it was an almost _new_ disease—at least in _this_ century, though it _might_ prove to be identical with the ‘Plague’ recorded in History—_very_ infectious, and frightfully rapid in its action. “It will not, however, prevent our party to-morrow,” he said in conclusion. “None of the guests belong to the infected district, which is, as you know, exclusively peopled by fishermen: so you may come without any fear.” Arthur was very silent, all the way back, and, on reaching our lodgings, immediately plunged into medical studies, connected with the alarming malady of whose arrival we had just heard. CHAPTER IX. THE FAREWELL-PARTY. On the following day, Arthur and I reached the Hall in good time, as only a few of the guests—it was to be a party of eighteen—had as yet arrived; and these were talking with the Earl, leaving us the opportunity of a few words apart with our hostess. “Who is that _very_ learned-looking man with the large spectacles?” Arthur enquired. “I haven’t met him here before, have I?” “No, he’s a new friend of ours,” said Lady Muriel: “a German, I believe. He _is_ such a dear old thing! And quite the most learned man I ever met—with _one_ exception, of course!” she added humbly, as Arthur drew himself up with an air of offended dignity. “And the young lady in blue, just beyond him, talking to that foreign-looking man. Is _she_ learned, too?”