“I can’t help that; I wish I could. Alice, the little one, isn’t half so bad; it is only being with Maud that spoils her. If ever you get Alice alone, you will find she is quite nice.” I had already had proof of that, and I told him so. “But one can’t confide in her, because she would tell everything to Maud, and Maud to my mother. You have no idea what the tyranny of those two women is like; my father dreads and I avoid them. My mother thinks she holds my destiny in her hand; but she is mistaken; and within the next six weeks she must find it out; for, if she wishes to stay abroad longer, she will have to stay alone. By the third week in November I shall be back in England, and before the month is out you must be my wife, my darling.” “Oh, Laurence, so soon!” “So soon? Why, it is a century off! I shall be gray-headed if we wait another week. I am not sure where we shall stay; but to-morrow night I will bring you an address that you can always write to. It is that of a friend of mine--I forget the number of the street, but you shall have it; and I shall be sure to get your letters. Now, if anything happens to alarm you, or you are ill, or anything, you are to write at once, and I will return to Geldham without delay. And, my darling--” We were interrupted by the sound of a carriage coming up the drive; it was Doctor Lowe’s brougham returning from the house. I went to the carriage-window, and he told me that Haidee was suffering at present only from a bad feverish cold, but that we must be careful with her, for it might turn to something worse, and he should call again to see her in the morning. He said that the child’s chest was weak, that the damp place was the worst thing for her, and that he should like to see her parents to advise them to take her away to some drier climate, as soon as she was well enough to be moved. “Mind, she mustn’t be moved yet,” said he. “She is very well where she is--nice warm room, high out of the damp. But the lower part of the house strikes like a vault.” “What would he say if he could go into the left wing?” I thought to myself. “There was only a silly little servant up there with the child. She says that is your room.” “Yes, Doctor Lowe.” “And is it true that Mrs. Rayner sleeps on the ground-floor?” “Yes, quite true.” “Well, then, you may think yourself lucky, young lady. For, if I lived in that house, I should let the people I wanted to get rid of sleep at the bottom, and keep the top for myself.” “Mrs. Rayner will have the ground-floor of the left wing to herself.” “Ah, well, there is no accounting for tastes; and, if Mrs. Rayner has a fancy for building her own sepulchre, why, there is nobody very eager to prevent her, I dare say!” said he dryly.