Garth coloured again. "Well, you see, Simpson is the chap who shaves me, and gets me into my clothes, and takes me about; and, though it will always be a trial, it is a trial to which I am growing accustomed. You might put it thus: Simpson is eyes to my body; Miss Gray is vision to my mind. Simpson's is the only touch which cores to me in the darkness. Do you know, Miss Gray has never touched me,--not even to shake hands. I am awfully glad of this. I will tell you why presently, if I may. It makes her just a MIND and VOICE to me, and nothing more; but a wonderfully kind and helpful voice. I feel as if I could not live without her." Garth rang the bell and Simpson appeared. "Take Sir Deryck to his room; and he will tell you what time he would like breakfast. And when you have seen to it all, Simpson, I will go out for a turn. Then I shall be free, Brand, when you are. But do not give me any more time this morning if you ought to be resting, or out on the moors having a holiday from minds and men." The doctor tubbed and got into his knickerbockers and an old Norfolk jacket; then found his way to the dining-room, and did full justice to an excellent breakfast. He was still pondering the problem of Jane, and at the same time wondering in another compartment of his mind in what sort of machine old Margery made her excellent coffee, when that good lady appeared, enveloped in an air of mystery, and the doctor immediately propounded the question. "A jug," said old Margery. "And would you be coming with me, Sir Deryck,--and softly, whenever you have finished your breakfast?" "Softly," said Margery again, as they crossed the hall, the doctor's tall figure closely following in her portly wake. After mounting a few stairs she turned to whisper impressively: "It is not what ye make it IN; it is HOW ye make it." She ascended a few more steps, then turned to say: "It all hangs upon the word FRESH," and went on mounting. "Freshly roasted--freshly ground--water--freshly-boiled--" said old Margery, reaching the topmost stair somewhat breathless; then turning, bustled along a rather dark passage, thickly carpeted, and hung with old armour and pictures. "Where are we going, Mistress Margery?" asked the doctor, adapting his stride to her trot--one to two. "You will be seeing whenever we get there, Sir Deryck," said Margery. "And never touch it with metal, Sir Deryck. Pop it into an earthenware jug, pour your boiling water straight upon it, stir it with a wooden spoon, set it on the hob ten minutes to settle; the grounds will all go to the bottom, though you might not think it; and you pour it out--fragrant, strong, and clear. But the secret is, fresh, fresh, fresh, and don't stint your coffee." Old Margery paused before a door at the end of the passage, knocked lightly; then looked up at the doctor with her hand on the door-handle, and an expression of pleading earnestness in her faithful Scotch eyes.