'He looks all right,' said Colin, 'but I heard mother say that he's very ill really, and she should have to put a stop to Dolly going to sit with him every day as she does, because--because he might die quite suddenly at any time--it's something wrong with his heart, she said, I believe. And yet he seems well enough. But oh, Mark, if--if it's that, you ought to let Mabel make it up with him, whatever he's done. You might let her go and see him--he would like it so, I know he would, though he wouldn't own it when I asked him. Only suppose he _died_! I know Mabel would be sorry then!' Every word the boy said cut Mark to the heart--he had never suggested to Mabel that she should avoid Vincent, and he could not be satisfied now until he had found out why she had done so; his insight not being nearly keen enough to discover the reason for himself. 'Give me his address,' he said, for he did not even know where Holroyd was living, and as soon as the boy had gone Mark drove to the place he had mentioned, a house in Cambridge Terrace, instead of returning home at once as he had previously intended. He did not believe that the illness was as serious as Colin had implied; of course that was exaggerated--but he could not be quite easy until he had reassured himself by a visit, and some lingering feeling of self-reproach drove him to make this atonement for his long neglect. The Langtons' carriage was at the door when he arrived; and, as he came into the sitting-room on the second floor, he heard Dolly's clear little voice and paused, hidden by the screen at the door. She was reading to Vincent, who was lying back in an arm-chair; it was Hans Andersen's 'Story of the Shadow,' a choice to which she had been guided by pure accident. Mark heard her read the half-sad, half-cynical conclusion as he stood there unseen: '"The Princess and the Shadow stepped out on the balcony to show themselves, and to receive one cheer more. But the learned man heard nothing of all these festivities--for he had already been executed." 'How horrid of that wicked Shadow!' was Dolly's indignant comment as she finished; 'oh, Vincent, aren't you very, very sorry for the poor learned man?' 'Much sorrier for the Shadow, Dolly,' he replied, a reply of which Dolly would have insisted upon an explanation had not Mark then come forward. He murmured some confused sentence accounting for his visit. 'I have been wondering whether I should see you again,' said Vincent. 'Dolly, you had better go now, dear, it is getting late--you will come and read me another story to-morrow?' 'If mother will let me,' said Dolly; 'and I tell you what, next time I come I'll bring Frisk; you want amusing, I know, and he's a nice, cheerful dog to have in a room with you.' When Mark returned from putting her into the carriage, Vincent said, 'Is there anything you want to say to me, Ashburn?' 'Yes,' said Mark; 'I know I have no right to trouble you. I know you can never really forgive me.'