"The disease is of a good many months' standing," he said. "It has taken very firm hold. Such a child as that should have been sheltered and cosseted, shielded from every hardship. Even then--very possibly--this would have developed. No one can say for certain." "Can you advise--nothing?" said Avery in a voice that sounded oddly dull and emotionless even to herself. "Nothing," said Maxwell Wyndham. "No medical science can help in a case like this. Give her everything she wants, and give her rest! That is all you can do for her now." Avery came and stood beside him. The blow had fallen, but she had scarcely begun to feel its effects. There was so much to be thought of first. "Please be quite open with me!" she said. "Tell me how long you think she will live!" He turned slightly and looked at her. "I can tell you what I think, Lady Evesham," he said. "But, remember, that does not bring the end any nearer." "I know," she said. She looked straight back at him with eyes unflinching, and after a moment's thought he spoke. "I think that--given every care--she may live through the summer, but I do not consider it likely." Avery's face was very pale, but still she did not flinch. "Will she suffer?" she asked. He raised his brows at the question. "My dear lady, she has suffered already far more than you have any idea of. One lung is practically gone, wholly useless. The other is rapidly going the same way. She has probably suffered for a year or more, first lassitude, then shortness of breath, and pretty often actual pain. Hasn't she complained of these things?" "She is a child who never complains," Avery said. "But both her mother and I thought she was wasting." "She is mere skin and bone," he said. "Now--about her people, Lady Evesham; who is going to tell them? You or I?" She hesitated. "But I could hardly ask you to do that," she said. "You may command me in any way," he answered. "If I may presume to advise, I should say that the best course would be for me to go to Rodding, see the doctor there, and get him to take me to the Vicarage." "Oh, but they mustn't take her from me!" Avery said. "Let her mother come here! She can't--she mustn't--go back home!" "Exactly what I was going to say," he returned, in his quiet practical fashion. "To take her back there would be madness. But look here, Lady Evesham, you must have a nurse." "Oh, not yet!" said Avery. "I am quite strong now. I am used to nursing. I have--no other call upon me. Let me do this!" "None?" he said. His tone re-called her. She coloured burningly. "My husband--would understand," she said, with difficulty. He passed the matter by. "Will you promise to send me a message if you find night-nursing a necessity?" She hesitated. He frowned. "Lady Evesham, you must promise me this in fairness to the child as well as to yourself. Also, you will give me your word that you will never under any circumstances sleep with her."