As Ernest spoke, he stooped to pick up the envelope of the letter, and thus failed to observe that Emily started and turned pale when he said he must leave her. The letter was from Sir Thomas Crawley’s valet; his master was very ill--dangerously ill, he was afraid; he had been unwell for some time, and had gone to Baden for change of air; but instead of recovering, he had grown worse every day, until finally, after a long interview with his medical advisers, he desired Hemmings to write to Mr. Selby and Mr. Carrington, begging them to come out to him without delay, and bring with them some clever English physician. When Mrs. Colville appeared and learned this intelligence, she fully agreed with Ernest that no time should be lost in setting off; and after a few minutes’ conversation on the subject, the rector rose to take his leave, saying that he should probably start the next morning. “Mamma has persuaded me to go for an hour or two to the Selbys this evening; Caroline would take no refusal, and Miss Plainfille is coming to sit with mamma. Shall I see you there?” asked the Rosebud, quietly. “Well then, farewell, dear Mrs. Colville,” exclaimed Ernest warmly, having answered Emily’s question in the affirmative; “I leave you in very good hands, and expect to find you stronger than ever when I return.” The evening at the Selbys was a very pleasant one, both to Emily and to Ernest, only instead of two hours, it appeared to last about ten minutes. “Mr. Carrington, I’m afraid I must be rude enough to ask you to step into my office and look at the arrangements I have made for our journey to-morrow,” observed Mr. Selby, late in the evening. “Certainly, I will follow you in one moment,” was the reply. There was a small apartment opening out of the drawingroom, fitted up as a boudoir for the benefit of Caroline Selby. In this snuggery the two young ladies had been looking over some water-colour sketches, but Caroline Selby had just been called away, and the Rosebud was left by herself. At that instant Ernest joined her. “Emily,” he said, and his voice was low and tremulous--“Emily, I have come to bid you good-bye.” “Must you go already?” was the rejoinder. “Indeed, I fear so,” returned Ernest. There was a pause, and then he resumed, in a voice which trembled with emotion, “Emily, we have been very happy of late.” “Oh, yes!” she murmured, almost unconsciously. “And you,” he continued--“you have been very kind and gentle. Emily, you will not forget me--will not grow cold towards me again?” She made no reply, but her silence was more eloquent than words. At that moment Mr. Selby’s footstep sounded on the stairs.