Could he apply to his brother? Again the answer was in the negative. He doubted whether Theodore possessed eighty guineas in the world. And so he went on revolving the same considerations through his fevered brain all through the long winter night. There were moments of exasperation and semi-delirium, when he thought he would go over to Medlow Court as soon as he was able to move, and appeal to the beneficence of Lady Burdenshaw for the temporary accommodation of a cheque for eighty guineas. And thus the night wore on till the morning sounds of the inn brought the sense of stern reality across his feverish dreams; and then, amidst the crowing of cocks, and the bumping of pails, and tramping of horses in the stable yard, he contrived to fall asleep, after having failed in that endeavour all through the quiet of the night. It was about half-past eleven, and the handy-man had helped him to make a decent toilet and to establish himself upon a sofa that was a little harder than the bed, when a pony-carriage drove up to the door, and the chamber-maid came in with an awe-stricken face to announce Lady Burdenshaw and another lady, and would he please to see them, as they wanted to come upstairs. The room was tidy, and he was dressed as well as a helpless man could be, so he said yes, they might come up, which was almost unnecessary, as they were already on the stairs, and were in the room a minute afterwards. Juliet expressed herself deeply concerned at her lover’s misfortune, though she did not attempt to conceal from him that she considered his riding in fault. Lady Burdenshaw was more sympathetic, and was horrified at the discomfort of his surroundings. “You cannot possibly endure that cruel-looking sofa till your shoulder is well,” she said, “and such a small room, too, poor fellow; and a horrid low ceiling; and the house smells damp. I wonder if we could venture to move him to the Court, Ju?” Ju was of opinion that such a proceeding would be to the last degree dangerous. “The only chance for his shoulder is to keep quiet,” she said. Unfortunately, the surgeon had said the same thing, and there could be no doubt about it. “Perhaps you could send him a sofa?” suggested Juliet. “Of course I could; and I can send him soups and jellies and things—but that isn’t like having him at Medlow, where he could have a large airy room, and where you and I could take it in turns to amuse him.” “Dear Lady Burdenshaw, you are too good to an almost stranger,” murmured Harrington, moved to the verge of tears by her geniality.