The sick man, on the other hand, seemed to be husbanding his strength. He had most obediently taken the brandy which had been given him, and now he lay back quietly among the pillows, with eyes closed and lips slightly parted. The hands wandered somewhat restlessly along the smooth surface of the quilt, otherwise Lord Radclyffe lay perfectly still. It even seemed--to Louisa's super-sensitive gaze--as if an expression of content had settled over the pale face. Once the sick man opened his eyes and looked up at the portrait: the lips murmured the one word: "Luke!" and slowly, very slowly, two tears formed in the sunken eyes and trickled down the wan cheeks. "You had better," said the doctor curtly, "leave the patient to me and to Sir Thomas." "Certainly," she replied. "I'll wait in the next room." "Sir Thomas will call you, no doubt, if your presence is desirable." She was ready enough to obey now: her uncle's footstep was heard on the landing outside. Quietly she relinquished her place beside the bed, and as she did so she bent down and kissed the poor old hand, that wandered so restlessly along the folds of the quilt. As Sir Thomas entered the room, she was just leaving it. They met under the lintel of the door. "He seems stronger," she whispered pointing to the sick man. "I think that he will make an effort--for Luke's sake." She waited a moment in the door-way, until she saw Sir Thomas Ryder installed on one side of the bed, and the doctor on the other side, with his finger on the patient's pulse. Then she retreated into the morning room, and moved by some unaccountable impulses she went to the piano and opening it, she sat down, and with exquisite softness began to play the opening bars of one of her favourite songs. She sang hardly above a whisper: the velvety tones of her voice sounded like the murmur of ghosts through the heavy tapestries of the room. Whenever her voice died away in the intervals of the song she could hear the hum of men's voices, her uncle's low and clear, now and then a word from the doctor, and through it all the voice of the sick man, feeble and distinct, speaking the words that would mean life to Luke. CHAPTER XL AND THUS HER HOUR HAD COME Half an hour had gone by. The fountain pen dropped from Sir Thomas's cramped fingers. He had been writing, slowly but incessantly, ever since he sat down beside the sick man, and put his first question to him. Lord Radclyffe, with the tenacity peculiar to a strong nature, had clung to his own strength and will power and had spoken clearly, so that Sir Thomas could not only understand but could write down what he heard, word for word--not omitting a phrase--accurately and succinctly. Once or twice Doctor Newington had to interfere. The patient was in danger of exhaustion, and brandy had again to be administered. Lord Radclyffe took it eagerly. What will power he had left was concentrated on the desire to keep up his strength.