But the case was different with him. He could not forget her. He could never forget her--no, not if he lived a hundred years. Were they destined to meet never again? That was a dreary question to ask and have to leave unanswered, while he lay weak and powerless here. He should get well no doubt in time, but this in time was such a weary, dead, tedious thing. It would be infinitely depressing and irksome to have to live here day after day pulling up strength. How was it possible for him to recover if his mind were haunted by doubts and anxieties? Doubts about what? Anxieties about whom? He was not in love with this woman. The notion of being in love with her was absurd. He had seen her but on three occasions, and then the meetings had been brief and full of anything but tenderness. He had heard and thought much of her in the few days since their first meeting. He should never forget their first meeting. Could he ever blot out from his memory the regal beauty and pose of her as she stood in that dreary hall and pointed out the room in which her husband lay dead? Ah, well, nothing could come of such thinking now! He wondered where was Blake at this moment, while he lay there on his back looking at the thin light of the February day. However, there was nothing for it but to submit. He was too weak to stand. He must try and rest contented for a while. But Dr. Santley did not think he would be able to move about for a month, and even then not much, as the weather would be greatly against him. He was this day allowed to see his family for a little while. Before his father left the room he had got his promise to call at Jermyn Street and make inquiries. Next evening his father came up to his room. He had called at Jermyn Street, and seen Mrs. Davenport. She was quite well: was sorry to hear Alfred had been ill. Mr. Pringle had told her. Her plans were not quite settled, but she thought she should leave London for the Continent in a few days. She did not say what part of the Continent she purposed going to. That was all. The person outside the family whom Alfred wished to see first was Jerry O'Brien; and, for reasons of friendliness towards Alfred, and of something a good deal more than friendliness towards Madge Paulton, Jerry was not slow to come. The younger Paultons were not remarkable for beauty. The father was much better-looking than the son--the mother than either of the daughters. Father and mother were both decidedly good-looking. Alfred was of the average size of man, upright, well-made, healthy-looking when in health, fresh-coloured, with light hair and beard touched here and there with red, full blue eyes, long nose, white, broad forehead, and useful, large, well-formed hands. He was good-tempered, easygoing, affectionate; but when once roused or awakened, he was impetuous, headlong, and anything but clear-headed.