His wife was in trouble. He could hear her. The sound of sobbing, the pitiful broken gasps of quite uncontrollable weeping came to him, mingled with the tones, coaxing and low, with which Grover was apparently attempting consolation. What had happened? Had she hurt herself? Had they allowed her to run into any danger? But no! He was at once aware, though how he knew it he could hardly say, that no pain of her own would draw those wild tears, that unrestrained grief from Virginia. Whatever it was, it must be stopped, or he should go mad. He felt as if his head were on fire--as if he must go out and kill somebody--why was it allowed, that she should be made unhappy? Then he thought of himself--of his own diabolical cruelty! Could she be lamenting because she was slowly but inexorably growing better, because she was to be taken from the doctor's kind hands and surrendered once more to her husband's harsh ones? The sweat stood upon the forehead of Gaunt of Omberleigh. It seemed to him that never--even in his hot youth--even in the first days of his jilting--had he suffered such torment as this. He rushed from his room into the passage, and called aloud to Grover: "Come here--come out--I want to speak to you!" CHAPTER XVIII THE FINAL TEST --"_I slew Myself in that instant! a ruffian lies Somewhere. Your slave, see, born in his place._" --Browning. In the closed room within there was a pause. The sound of weeping died away, as though the master's voice had forced even anguish into the silence of terror. Grover answered him at length in sudden haste, as though anything would be better than to risk his anger. There followed a muttering and murmuring, as though the maid were imploring her mistress to command herself. Gaunt shook with rage and helplessness. Thereafter the door was softly opened, elaborately closed, and Grover, her own eyes suspiciously red, emerged and stood before him. For one moment he hoped he might have been mistaken. "Was it you making that noise?" he asked thickly; and as she hesitated, he added in haste: "Give me the truth, please, Grover." Perhaps something in his voice excited the woman's pity. At any rate, she rejected the way out which his random words had suggested. It had been on her tongue to say yes, it was she--she had conjured up toothache, a fall downstairs, a family bereavement, wondering which would sound the most convincing, and was forced to reject all. "It was Mrs. Gaunt," she faltered baldly. "Well, what's the matter? Out with it. What makes her cry like that--eh?" "She's had bad noos, sir. Noos of her little sister. She's fair broken-hearted--it's awful to see her----" The kind soul's voice failed, and she applied her handkerchief to her quivering mouth. "Good heavens! The child's not dead, is she?" "No, sir; but she's in agony, and calling for her sister. They seem to think she can't live, sir--the treatment has made her worse----"