chilly, it might have occurred to him that the intense perspiration he had been in had struck inwards, but it did not. In the evening he was dancing with the rest of them thinking no more of it, apparently having escaped all ill effects from the wetting. CHAPTER VII. JOHN SMITH’S DINNER PARTY. The drawing-rooms of John Smith’s mansion were teeming with light, with noise, and with company; a dinner party had taken place that day, a gentleman’s party. It was not often that he gave one, and when he did it was thoroughly well done. George Taylor did not give better dinners than Mr. Smith. The only promised guest who had failed in his attendance was Charles Taylor. Very rarely indeed did he accept of invitations to dinner. If there was one man in all the county to whom Mr. Smith seemed inclined to pay court, to treat with marked consideration and respect, that man was Charles Taylor; he nearly always declined--declined courteously, in a manner which could not afford the slightest evidence of offense; he was of quiet habits, not strong in health of late, and, though he had to give dinner parties himself and attend some of his cousins’ for courtesy’s sake, his friends nearly all were kind enough to excuse him frequenting theirs in return. This time Charles Taylor had yielded to Mr. Smith’s pressing entreaties made in person and promised to be present, a promise which was not, as it proved to be, kept. All the rest of the guests had assembled and they were only waiting the appearance of Mr. Taylor to sit down when a hasty note arrived from Miss Taylor. “Mr. Taylor was taken sick while dressing, and was unable to attend.” So they sat down without him. The dinner having been over most of the guests had gone to the drawing-room, which was radiant with light and noisy with the hum of many voices. A few had gone home, a few had taken cigars and were strolling outside the dining-room windows in the bright moonlight. Miss Taylor’s note that her brother had been taken sick while dressing for the dinner was correct; he was dressing in his room when he was attacked by a sharp internal pain, he hastily sat down, a cry escaping his lips and drops of water gathering on his brow; alone he bore it, calling for no aid; in a few minutes the paroxysm had partially passed and he rang for his servant, who had for many years attended his father. “George, I am sick again,” said Charles, quietly. “Will you ask Miss Taylor to write a line to Mr. Smith, saying that I am unable to attend.” George cast a strangely yearning look on the pale suffering face of his master, he had been in these paroxysms of pain once or twice. “I wish you would have Mr. Brown called in, sir,” he cried. “I think I shall, he may give me some ease, possibly; take my message to your mistress, George.” The effect of the message was to bring Mary to his room, “taken sick, a sharp inward pain,” she was repeating after George. “Charles, what kind of a pain is it, it seems