He was looking dreadfully tired, she thought, and there were quite deep lines on his face; he seemed to have aged since yesterday. Perhaps it was with want of sleep, but Lucy put it down at once to his guilty conscience. She was feeling old herself, years older than yesterday. 'He has had a very bad night,' Eric Gwatkin said, speaking in a low voice and with his lips twitching, 'such a night as I pray God I may never witness again. You were not praying for us last night. You did not pray for him--for me--when you went away.' Lucy bowed her head; she remembered she had not prayed for these men. What were they to her that she should pray for them? She had been walking about the passages and frightening Pamela out of her wits instead, when she ought to have been on her knees. The screen had been moved since yesterday; it had been drawn nearer the bed, so that the middle of the room where they were standing was left clear. 'He does not like to see anyone whispering,' Eric explained; 'he is very suspicious, and the least thing excites him.' 'You were alone with him all night?' Lucy asked, with a perceptible quiver in her voice; 'you have been up two nights.' 'That doesn't matter,' he said, 'I shall have all the strength I need; but last night he was very violent, and--and I thought I should have to call Mr. Colville. It was a great temptation--I could hardly resist it.' 'Oh, why didn't you?' said Lucy. 'Why do you take all this responsibility upon yourself?' Eric Gwatkin smiled. His smile was not the least like Pamela's. Lucy couldn't help thinking, as she stood there, how it would change Pamela's face and take the weariness out of it if she had that smile. 'I don't mind the responsibility,' he said, 'or the anxiety, if I can save him. It would be worse than death to him to have it known. Oh, I think you must go home and pray that he may be brought through this, and may be kept for the future. He will need all our prayers.' 'What on earth are you whispering about, Wattles? I wish you would speak so that a fellow can hear what you are saying.' The voice came from behind the screen--an impatient voice, not weak by any means. 'All right, old man; Miss Rae has come to ask how you are. He saw you yesterday,' he said, turning to Lucy and speaking in a lower voice; 'he remembered you quite well.' 'It's awfully good of you,' Wyatt Edgell said as Lucy came from behind the screen; 'I'm afraid we don't look like receiving visitors. Old Wattles here insists upon making a mess.'