“Minutes are precious now. If anything should occur here,”--his eyes turned towards the sick-bed as he spoke,--“Merl will refuse to treat. His people--I know they are his--are hovering about the hotel all the morning. I heard the waiter whispering as I passed, and caught the words, 'No better; worse, if anything.' The tidings would be in London before the post.” Lady Dorothea made no reply, and all was now silent, save the unequal but heavy breathings of the sick man, and the faint, low mutterings of his dream. “In the arras--between the window and the wall--there it is, Barry,” cried he, in a clear, distinct voice. “Repton has a copy of it, too, with Catty's signature,--old Catty Broon.” “What is he dreaming of?” asked the young man. But, instead of replying to the question, Lady Dorothea bent down her head to catch the now muttered words of the sleeper. “He says something of a key. What key does he mean?” asked he. [Illustration: 297] “Fetch me that writing-desk,” said Lady Dorothea, as she took several keys from her pockets; and noiselessly unlocking the box, she began to search amidst its contents. As she continued, her gestures grew more and more hurried; she threw papers recklessly here and there, and at last emptied the entire contents upon the table before her. “See, search if there be a key here,” cried she, in a broken voice; “I saw it here three days ago.” “There is none here,” said he, wondering at her eagerness. “Look carefully,--look well for it,” said she, her voice trembling at every word. “Is it of such consequence--” “It is of such consequence,” broke she in, “that he into whose hands it falls can leave you and me beggars on the world!” An effort at awaking by the sick man here made her hastily restore the papers to the desk, which she locked, and replaced upon the table. “Was it the Henderson did this?” said she aloud, as if asking the question of herself. “Could she have known this secret?” “Did what? What secret?” asked he, anxiously. A low, long sigh announced that the sick man was awaking; and in a faint voice he said, “I feel better, Dora. I have had a sleep, and been dreaming of home and long ago. To-morrow, or next day, perhaps, I may be strong enough to leave this. I want to be back there again. Nay, don't refuse me,” said he, timidly. “When you are equal to the journey--” “I have a still longer one before me, Dora, and even less preparation for it. Harry, I have something to say to you, if I were strong enough to say it,--this evening, perhaps.” Wearied by the efforts he had made, he lay back again with a heavy sigh, and was silent. “Is he worse--is he weaker?” asked his son. A mournful nod of the head was her reply.