“My dear cousin, this is not like the loss of sight or memory which has taken place as the result of a shock, and may be restored by another shock. The power is gone. He says that he felt as though something snapped in his brain, and that will serve very well as a popular description of what has occurred. The connecting-cord is broken, and he is incapable of carrying on a train of thought.” “Oh, what will he do? what will he do?” moaned the Queen. “Pray do not distress yourself, cousin. Many very worthy persons are born without the faculty of connected thought, and live happy lives, unconscious of the defect.” If they were born without it, perhaps. But Cyril, who had possessed and lost it? “You told him, cousin?” “Naturally. He is not a child. He received the news with the utmost coolness, and conversed cheerfully as he escorted me to the door. But, my dear cousin, you are ill--about to faint. Allow me to call my wife, or one of your ladies.” “No! no!” Ernestine seized his arm and held him back. “Take me to the cloakroom, that is all, and fetch Lord or Lady Caerleon. I want no one else. Don’t let people make a scene.” She sank upon the couch to which he led her, and sat there with clenched hands and staring eyes until he returned with Philippa, the only member of the family whom he could find disengaged at the moment. Receiving another fervent entreaty to say nothing of Ernestine’s indisposition, he withdrew, and she turned frantically to Philippa. “Will you come with me to your uncle, at once? He has had bad news, there is something wrong with his brain, and he has been told it too suddenly. His friends are away, and the shock----” Her voice failed her, but Philippa read in the piteous eyes the unspoken fear which had seized herself as she listened, and she grasped the two trembling hands in her own. “Oh yes, yes; let us come this moment. Usk or Mr Mansfield will help us.” But Usk was the centre of a group of laughing Greek girls, who were teaching him to pronounce their language properly, and Mansfield, having failed to get a word with Philippa all evening, had wandered away disconsolately with Mr Judson. Even Mr Hicks, engrossed in subjecting a Latin bishop to an informal interview, was so busy that Philippa could not catch his eye. “There is only that elderly officer who belongs to your suite, madame, that I can see,” she said, hurrying back to the Queen. “Banics? Oh, fetch him--he can be trusted.” Philippa obeyed, and Ernestine addressed the astonished General with feverish eagerness. “Find us a carriage, Banics. I must go at once to Count Mortimer’s lodgings--at once, at once.” “At this hour, madame? Allow me to request his Excellency to wait upon you instead,” was the sole protest General Banics permitted himself, but his mistress waved it aside wildly. “You will kill me with all this delay! Find a carriage quickly. I tell you we must go at once.”