"Mother," she cried, without seeing Horace in her agitation, "do come to papa, quick! He has just begun kicking again, and I can't manage him alone.... Oh, _you_ here?" she broke off, as she saw who was in the room. "Why do you come here now, Horace? Please, _please_ go away! Papa is rather unwell--nothing serious, only--oh, _do_ go away!" "Darling!" said Horace, going to her and taking both her hands, "I know all--do you understand?--_all_!" "Mamma!" cried Sylvia, reproachfully, "have you told him--already? When we settled that even Horace wasn't to know till--till papa recovers!" "I have told him nothing, my dear," replied her mother. "He can't possibly know, unless--but no, that isn't possible. And, after all," she added, with a warning glance at her daughter, "I don't know why we should make any mystery about a mere attack of gout. But I had better go and see if your father wants anything." And she hurried out of the room. Sylvia sat down and gazed silently into the fire. "I dare say you don't know how dreadfully people kick when they've got gout," she remarked presently. "Oh yes, I do," said Horace, sympathetically; "at least, I can guess." "Especially when it's in both legs," continued Sylvia. "Or," said Horace gently, "in all four." "Ah, you _do_ know!" cried Sylvia. "Then it's all the more horrid of you to come!" "Dearest," said Horace, "is not this just the time when my place should be near you--and him?" "Not near papa, Horace!" she put in anxiously; "it wouldn't be at all safe." "Do you really think I have any fear for myself?" "Are you sure you quite know--what he is like now?" "I understand," said Horace, trying to put it as considerately as possible, "that a casual observer, who didn't know your father, might mistake him, at first sight, for--for some sort of quadruped." "He's a mule," sobbed Sylvia, breaking down entirely. "I could bear it better if he had been a _nice_ mule.... B--but he isn't!" "Whatever he may be," declared Horace, as he knelt by her chair endeavouring to comfort her, "nothing can alter my profound respect for him. And you must let me see him, Sylvia; because I fully believe I shall be able to cheer him up." "If you imagine you can persuade him to--to laugh it off!" said Sylvia, tearfully. "I wasn't proposing to try to make him see the humorous side of his situation," Horace mildly explained. "I trust I have more tact than that. But he may be glad to know that, at the worst, it is only a temporary inconvenience. I'll take care that he's all right again before very long." She started up and looked at him, her eyes widened with dawning dread and mistrust. "If you can speak like that," she said, "it must have been _you_ who--no, I can't believe it--that would be too horrible!" "I who did _what_, Sylvia? Weren't you there when--when it happened?"