"You seem to be in the confidence of our mutual friend," he said, in an easy tone. "May I ask why?" "Because I am going to be his wife," replied Cecilia, while a flood of crimson rushed over the pure white of her face. "His wife--a blind girl?" "Blind as I am he loves me," she said indignantly, "and I can protect him against you, Mr. Beaumont." "Me? I do not wish to harm him." "No. You could not even if you did wish; he is going to marry me, and I hope to undo all the harm you have done him." "I wish you joy of your task," he replied with a sneer. "But Dr. Nestley seems to be able to transfer his affections very easily--perhaps you do not know he was in love with Miss Challoner." "Yes I do," she answered in a low tone, "he told me everything; and we understand one another perfectly. You have done your worst, Mr. Beaumont, and can do no more--he is going to become my husband, and, blind as I am, I hope to be his guardian angel from such men as you." "These domestic details don't interest me in the slightest," he answered contemptuously, waving his hand. "Will you be kind enough to go, Miss Mosser? I have some letters to write." "I am going," answered the blind girl, quietly feeling her way to the door. "I only came to tell you that you will never see him again--never!" "Neither will you," he returned brutally. The poor girl burst into tears at the unmanly taunt, but hastily dried them, and answered him back proudly. "I can see him in my own mind, sir," she said indignantly, "and that is all I wish for--his faults have been of your making, and not of his own. I say good-bye to you, sir, and only wish you a better heart, that you may not make a jest of the misfortunes of others." As she closed the door after her, Beaumont felt rather ashamed of himself, but soon recovered from the feeling, and sat down at the table to write a note to Reginald. "Bah!" he said, as his pen travelled swiftly over the paper. "What do I care? if he likes to encumber himself with that woman he can do so. I don't suppose I'll ever see him again in this life, nor do I wish to--my business now is with my dear son. I'll get what I want out of him, and then the whole lot of them can go to the devil." Meanwhile, Cecilia had returned to the sick room, where Miss Busky, still faithful to her blind friend, sat watching by the bedside of the invalid. A pale, sickly light filtered in through the white-curtained windows, mixing with the red glow of the fire, and in this curiously blended twilight could be seen the glimmer of the medicine bottles on the round table by the bed, the deep arm-chair close at hand wherein Miss Busky sat the milky whiteness of the disordered bed-clothes and the subdued shine upon the surface of the furniture. Throughout the room was a complete stillness, unbroken even by the tick of a clock, and nothing was heard but the heavy breathing of the sick man.