"Arthur, Arthur, I say, _yes_; good God, I feel I shall have a good deal to say; but--my head, and things--I'm a little perplexed still, and I must have a glass of wine, about it, and I can't do it now; no, I can't." "I don't live far away, you know; and I'll look in to-morrow--we're not in a hurry." "It was a strange idea, Arthur. Good Lord, have mercy on me!" "Not a bad one; eh?" "Very odd, Arthur!--God forgive you." "Yes, my dear Kiffyn, and you, too." "The coronet--about it? I'm placed in a dreadful position, but you shan't be compromised, Arthur. Tell them I'm not very well, and some _wine_, I think--a little chill." "And to-morrow I can look in again, quietly," said the Greek merchant, "or whenever you like, and I shan't disclose our little confidence." "It's going--everything, everything; I shall see it by-and-by," said Lord Verney, helplessly. And thus the interview ended, and Mr. Dingwell in the hall gave the proper alarm about Lord Verney. CHAPTER XX. A BREAK-DOWN. ABOUT an hour after, a message came down from Malory for the doctor. "How is his lordship?" asked the doctor, eagerly. "No, it isn't _him_, sure; it is the old _lady_ is taken very bad." "Lady Wimbledon?" "No, sure. Her ladyship's not there. Old Mrs. Mervyn." "Oh!" said the doctor, tranquillized. "Old Rebecca Mervyn, is it? And what may be the matter with the poor old lady?" "Fainting like; one fainting into another, sure; and her breath almost gone. She's very bad--as pale as a sheet." "Is she talking at all?" "No, not a word. Sittin' back in her chair, sure." "Does she know you, or mind what you say to her?" "Well, _no_. She's a-holdin' that old white-headed man's hand that's been so long bad there, and a-lookin' at him; but I don't think she hears nor sees nothin' myself." "Apoplexy, or the heart, more likely," ruminated the doctor. "Will you call one of those pony things for me?" And while the pony-carriage was coming to the door, he got a few phials together and his coat on, being in a hurry; for he was to play a rubber of billiards at the club for five shillings at seven o'clock. In an hour's time after the interview with Arthur Verney, Lord Verney had wonderfully collected his wits. His effects in that department, it is true, were not very much, and perhaps the more easily brought together. He wrote two short letters--marvellously short for him--and sent down to the Verney Arms to request the attendance of Mr. Larkin. Lord Verney was calm; he was even gentle; spoke, in his dry way, little, and in a low tone. He had the window-shutter opened quite, and the curtains drawn back, and seemed to have forgotten his invalided state, and everything but the revolution which in a moment had overtaken and engulfed him--to which great anguish with a dry resignation he submitted.