She followed the doctor to the door to ask him if he had any directions, received his orders, and then, with a bright, hopeful light in her eyes, she went softly back towards the dining-room. A smile began to glisten about her lips, like sunshine in winter, as she laid her hand upon the door. Then she looked round sharply, for in the midst of that dawning hope of safety for her child there was a heavy step, and the study-door opened. She turned deadly pale, for it was Stephen Crellock's step; and the words that came from the study were in her husband's voice. VOLUME FOUR, CHAPTER TWELVE. MRS OTWAY ON LOVE. "Ah! Phil, Phil, Phil!" exclaimed Mrs Otway as she sat facing Eaton some mornings later, while he lay back in a Chinese cane chair, propped up by pillows. "Come, this will not do." He met her gaze firmly, and she went on. "This makes five days that you have been here, tangling yourself more and more in the net. It's time I took you by the ears and lugged you out." "But you will not?" he said, lifting his injured arm very gently with his right hand, sighing as he did so, and rearranging the sling. Mrs Otway jumped up, went behind him, untied the handkerchief that formed the sling, and snatched it away. "I won't sit still and see you play at sham in that disgraceful way, Phil," she cried. "It's bad enough, staying here as you do, without all that nonsense." "You are too hard on me." "I'm not," she cried. "I've seen too many wounded men not to know something about symptoms. I knew as well as could be when I was here yesterday, but I would not trust myself, and so I attacked Woodhouse about you last night, and he surrendered at once." "Why, what did he say?" "Lit a cigar, and began humming, `Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love that makes the world go round!'" Eaton clapped his hands upon the arms of his chair, half raised himself, and then threw himself back, and began beating the cane-work with his fingers, frowning with vexation. "There, you see what a lot of practice it takes to make a good impostor," said Mrs Otway. "What do you mean?" "How bad your arm seems!" "Pish!" exclaimed the young man, beginning to nurse it, then ceasing with a gesture of contempt, and looking helplessly at his visitor. "The pain's not there," he said dolefully. "Poor boy! What a fuss about a pretty face! There, I'm half ready to forgive you. It was very tempting." "And I've been so happy: I have indeed." "What, with those two men?" "Pish!--nonsense! It's dreadful that those two sweet ladies should be placed as they are." "Amen to that!" "Mrs Hallam is the sweetest, tenderest-hearted woman I ever met." "Indeed." "No mother could have been more gentle and loving to me." "Except Lady Eaton," said Mrs Otway dryly. "Oh! my mother, of course; but then she was not here to nurse me." "I'd have nursed you, Phil, if you had been brought into quarters." "Oh, I know that!" cried Eaton warmly; "but, you see, I was brought on here."