But when a man comes to be seventy-four it is better for him that he should hold these pleasures with a light hand. There seems no reason in particular, in these days when the pressure of age is so much less than it used to be, why a man who has attained that age should not go on till he is eighty-four or more, as is so often the case. But still there are accidents which occur from time to time and prove that humanity is still weak, and that the three-score and ten is a fair limit of life. There was very cold weather in the early winter of the year in which Lord Frogmore completed his seventy-fourth and Marmaduke his fifth year. They both took bad colds, belonging as they did respectively to the most susceptible classes, but little Mar got soon better, whereas Lord Frogmore got worse. It was December, and everything was dark and dreary. The news from the asylum was agitating, for it was reported that Lady Frogmore was passing through an unexpected crisis of her malady, and that “a change” might take place at any moment. A change! what did that mean? When people in an ordinary illness speak of a change it generally means death. Was this to be the end of everything? The morning after the disturbing intelligence was received Lord Frogmore was in a high fever, and the doctors looked very anxious. It seemed as if poor little Mar was about to lose both parents at once. CHAPTER XXIV. Lord Frogmore’s bronchitis was very severe, so bad that the doctors looked very serious, and notwithstanding the vigilance and understanding of Rogers, who knew his master, as he said, better than any of them--insisted upon adding a trained nurse to all the other embarrassments of the great establishment, which were so heavy upon the shoulders of Agnes Hill. The old lord’s grave condition, the ominous announcement of “a change” in her sister’s state, the care of that house full of servants, the jealousy of Rogers who could not endure “the woman” who had been placed over his head, and in the midst of all the two noisy boys. Duke, who was at the Park for his holidays, and little Mar, who considered it part of his religion to do everything that Duke did--went near to overwhelm poor Agnes, who had never been used to any great responsibility, and was anxious beyond what words could say. She might, indeed, have spared herself all trouble about the house, since Mr. Upjames, the butler, was fully equal to any emergency; but the susceptibilities of Rogers were a very serious matter. “The only thing for me to do, Miss ’Ill, is to retire,” he said. “To have a woman put over my head, and one as knows nothing about it, is more than I can be expected to put up with.” “Oh, Rogers, you must not leave your master. What could he do without you?” cried Agnes, with anxious conciliation.