She led the way upstairs, and the next minute they were in Leonard's room. It was a queer little room, extremely low, with bulging walls, sagging beams and an uneven floor. Len lay propped very high with pillows. His face was drawn and feverish--he was literally fighting for his breath, and his lips were blue. He smiled when he saw Nigel. "Hullo, old man!... good of you to come.... Lord!"--as he saw his clothes--"put me among the nuts." "Don't talk," said his brother sharply. "Your hair ..." panted Len. "Shut up!" Len pointed to a glass of water by the bed. Janey gave him a drink. He began to cough violently, and his face became purple. Nigel felt sick. "I--I'm better," gasped Leonard. "I--I had ... a beastly stitch ... but it's gone." "When's the doctor coming again?" Nigel asked Janet. "The first thing to-morrow." "He ought to have a nurse." "Oh, no!" cried Len; "you and Janey can manage me ... between you ... I'll soon be all right ... I don't want any little Tottie Coughdrop fussing round." "He's dreadful," said Janey, "he will talk." "How long has he been like this?" "As I tell you, he'd been feeling queer all the afternoon. Then I crocked up for some silly reason, and instead of being properly attended to, he had to look after me"--a sob broke into her voice, and she pulled Nigel aside. "The doctor says it's a frightfully acute case," she whispered. "But ... but" interrupted Len, "Nigel hasn't told us ... about the concert ... where's the laurel crown?... left it in the train?" "Oh, do shut up! I'll tell you anything you like if you'll hold your tongue." "Tell him while I'm giving him his milk," said Janey; "the doctor ordered him milk every two hours, but he simply won't take it." "I'll make him," said his brother grimly. "I'll go and fetch it--you stay with him, Nigel." She left the room, and Len lay silent a moment, looking out at the stars. "Old man," he whispered suddenly, "while Janey's away ... I want to tell you something." "What is it?--can't it wait till you're better?" "No.... It's this.... She ... she's in ... infernal trouble." Nigel quailed. "What is it, Len?" "She'd rather tell you herself ... she's going to ... all I want to say is ... when you hear, just remember that ... she's our Janey." CHAPTER VIII VIGIL The doctor called early the next morning, and looked serious. Leonard had had a restless night, and his symptoms were becoming very grave. He still kept up his efforts at conversation, though they were more painful than ever. "I--I'm not going to die, Doc," he panted. "Well, keep quiet, and we'll see about it," said the doctor. "But have you heard about my brother?... the one who fills the Albert Hall?... Oh, 'ninety-nine,' since you insist." Nigel had been sent over to Dormans the first thing in the morning, to buy up all the papers he could. Several of them had a report of von Gleichroeder's concert, and most of these mentioned Nigel's performance favourably.