"This letter has just come for you, Mr. Ferrier, by special messenger. And Miss Mallory asked me to bring you the newspaper." Ferrier took the letter, which was bulky and addressed in the Premier's handwriting. "Kindly ask the messenger to wait. I will come and speak to him." He opened the letter and read it. Then, having put it deliberately in his pocket, he sat bending forward, staring at the grass. The newspaper caught his eye. It was the _Herald_ of that morning. He raised it from the ground, read the first leading article, and then a column "from a correspondent" on which the article was based. As he came to the end of it a strange premonition took possession of him. He was still himself, but it seemed to him that the roar of some approaching cataract was in his ears. He mastered himself with difficulty, took a pencil from his pocket, and drew a wavering line beside a passage in the article contributed by the _Herald's_ correspondent. The newspaper slid from his knee to the ground. Then, with a groping hand, he sought again for Broadstone's letter, drew it out of its envelope, and, with a mist before his eyes, felt for the last page which, he seemed to remember, was blank. On this he traced, with difficulty, a few lines, replaced the whole letter in the torn envelope and wrote an address upon it--uncertainly crossing out his own name. Then, suddenly, he fell back. The letter followed the newspaper to the ground. Deadly weakness was creeping upon him, but as yet the brain was clear. Only his will struggled no more; everything had given way, but with the sense of utter catastrophe there mingled neither pain nor bitterness. Some of the Latin verse scattered over the essay he had been reading ran vaguely through his mind--then phrases from his last talk with the Prime Minister--then remembrances of the night at Assisi--and the face of the poet-- A piercing cry rang out close beside him--Diana's cry. His life made a last rally, and his eyes opened. They closed again, and he heard no more. Sir James Chide stooped over Diana. "Run for help!--brandy!--a doctor! I'll stay with him. Run!" Diana ran. She met Mrs. Colwood hurrying, and sent her for brandy. She herself sped on blindly toward the village. A few yards beyond the Beechcote gate she was overtaken by a carriage. There was an exclamation, the carriage pulled up sharp, and a man leaped from it. "Miss Mallory!--what is the matter?" She looked up, saw Oliver Marsham, and, in the carriage behind him, Lady Lucy, sitting stiff and pale, with astonished eyes. "Mr. Ferrier is ill--very ill! Please go for the doctor! He is here--at my house." The figure in the carriage rose hurriedly. Lady Lucy was beside her. "What is the matter?" She laid an imperious hand on the girl's arm. "I think--he is dying," said Diana, gasping. "Oh, come!--come back at once!" Marsham was already in the carriage. The horse galloped forward. Diana and Lady Lucy ran toward the house.