When he did not return toward night Charles Bunbury and his wife became alarmed. He had only taken his hat and cloak from the hall as he went out; he had left no line to tell them that he did not mean to return. Bunbury questioned Mary about him. Had he not been with her in the still-room, he inquired. She told him the truth--as much of the truth as she could tell. “I am afraid that his running away was due to me,” she said. “If so, I shall never forgive myself.” “What can be your meaning, my dear?” he inquired. “I thought that you and he had always been the closest friends.” “If we had not been such friends we should never have quarreled,” said she. “You know that our mother has had her heart set upon my acceptance of Colonel Gwyn. Well, she went to see Goldsmith at his cottage, and begged of him to come to me with a view of inducing me to accept the proposal of Colonel Gwyn.” “I heard nothing of that,” said he, with a look of astonishment. “And so I suppose when he began to be urgent in his pleading you got annoyed and said something that offended him.” She held down her head. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” said he “Have you not seen long ago that that man is no more than a child in simplicity?” “I am ashamed of myself,” said she. “I shall never forgive myself for my harshness.” “That will not bring him back,” said her brother-in-law. “Oh! it is always the best of friends who part in this fashion.” Two days afterwards he told his wife that he was going to London. He had so sincere an attachment for Goldsmith, his wife knew very well that he felt that sudden departure of his very deeply, and that he would try and induce him to return. But when Bunbury came back after the lapse of a couple of days, he came back alone. His wife met him in the chaise when the coach came up. His face was very grave. “I saw the poor fellow,” he said. “I found him at his chambers in Brick Court. He is very ill indeed.” “What, too ill to be moved?” she cried. He shook his head. “Far too ill to be moved,” he said. “I never saw a man in worse condition. He declared, however, that he had often had as severe attacks before now, and that he has no doubt he will recover. He sent his love to you and to Mary. He hopes you will forgive him for his rudeness, he says.” “His rudeness! his rudeness!” said Katherine, her eyes streaming with tears. “Oh, my poor friend--my poor friend!” She did not tell her sister all that her husband had said to her. Mary was, of course, very anxious to hear how Oliver was, but Katherine only said that Charles had seen him and found him very ill. The doctor who was in attendance on him had promised to write if he thought it advisable for him to have a change to the country. The next morning the two sisters were sitting together when the postboy's horn sounded. They started up simultaneously, awaiting a letter from the doctor.