“My sister,” said David, taking up his unfinished thread of speech, in the same decided tone, “was good enough to promise me a month out of her gay existence. I should be indeed ungrateful if I did not appreciate the manner in which she has brought so much life and animation into our seclusion, and I must be deeply indebted to her for the well-chosen company she has collected for this purpose under my roof.” Here he made a grave inclination in which his astonished guests were all included. “But all good things come to an end; and to-morrow will see Bindon deserted of its lively guests, see us resuming the former quiet tenor of our lives with what heart we may.” He smiled again as he concluded. Herrick, in boyish huff, walked abruptly off with Priscilla still on his arm. Villars followed in their wake, anxious to discuss so extraordinary a situation. Lady Lochore wheeled round and caught Harcourt by the arm. “Tony, will you submit to such treatment?” she whispered fiercely. For a moment Harcourt looked at her, with a curious green gleam in his eye:—the affable _roué_ was also “something of a tiger,” as David’s sister had not forgotten. But the next instant he shrugged his shoulders and detached himself from her grasp with some show of annoyance. Ellinor stood beside her cousin, face uplifted, pride of him, joy for herself exulting within her. But David suddenly put his hands to his forehead: “If I do not get some sleep at last,” he murmured with a distraught air, “I shall go mad!” “Father,” she cried sharply once more alarmed. “Look to David, he is ill!” Master Simon woke up this time like the hound to the sound of the horn, and came forward with quite a new expression of acuteness and gravity on his face. “And, by my faith!” exclaimed Lady Lochore, in fury, “this passes endurance! With your leave, Mrs. Marvel, if David is unwell, he has his sister to see to him.” She pushed past Master Simon, who, however, put her back with a decided hand. “One minute, Madam, this good lad will be seen to by him who has done so these many years—and in much graver circumstances, as you may remember.” Abashed, yet still raging, she stood back. “A trifle of fever,” said the simpler, shooting scrutiny at his patient’s face from under his drawn bushy eyebrows. “Hot and cold, flame and shiver? Eh, eh. I can read you like a book. Never has my insight been clearer. We’ll make you a draught, we’ll have you a new man. Ellinor shall brew you an anodyne. Eh, what? Come now, you’ll have to drink it. What’s that?” David was speaking, but not to Master Simon. “I will drink it if she gives it to me,” he said dreamily. It was to Ellinor he turned. “And perhaps a drop—eh, child?—just one drop of the Elixir!” continued the old man, ruminating and chuckling again. “Not one,” said Ellinor to herself. “Vervaine and violet, and perhaps one poppy head.” “David,” she pursued aloud, “no hand but mine shall mix this cup.” And, with a swift foot she departed.