“He has fainted,” said Tom, not allowing the worse fear to overmaster him. “Run quick, and get some water, Erica.” She obeyed mechanically. When she returned, Tom had managed to get Raeburn on to the floor and had loosened his cravat; he had also noticed that only one letter lay upon the desk, abruptly terminating at “I am, yours sincerely.” Whether the “Luke Raeburn” would ever be added, seemed to Tom at that moment very doubtful. Leaving Erica with her father, he rushed across the square to summon Brian, returning in a very few minutes with the comforting news that he was at home and would be with them immediately. Erica gave a sigh of relief when the quick, firm steps were heard on the pavement outside. Brian was so closely associated with all the wearing times of illness and anxiety which had come to them in the last six years that, in her trouble, she almost forgot the day at Fiesole regarding him not as her lover, but as the man who had once before saved her father's life. His very presence inspired her with confidence, the quiet authority of his manner, the calm, business-like way in which he directed things. Her anxiety faded away in the consciousness that he knew all about it, and would do everything as it should be done. Before very long Raeburn showed signs of returning consciousness, sighed uneasily; then, opening his eyes, regained his faculties as suddenly as he had lost them. “Halloo!” he exclaimed, starting up. “What's all this coil about? What are you doing to me?” They explained things to him. “Oh! Fainted, did I!” he said musingly. “I have felt a little faint once or twice lately. What day is it? What time is it?” Tom mentioned the meeting of the previous evening, and Raeburn seemed to recollect himself. He looked at his watch, then at the letter on his desk. “Well, it's my way to do things thoroughly,” he said with a smile; “I must have been off for a couple of hours. I am very sorry to have disturbed your slumbers in this way.” As he spoke, he sat down composedly at his desk, picked up the pen and signed his name to the letter. They stood and watched him while he folded the sheet and directed the envelope; his writing bore a little more markedly than usual the tokens of strong self-restraint. “Perhaps you'll just drop that in the pillar on your way home,” he said to Brian. “I want Jackson to get it by the first post. If you will look in later on, I should be glad to have a talk with you. At present I'm too tired to be overhauled.” Then, as Brian left the room, he turned to Erica. “I am sorry to have given you a fright, my child; but don't worry about me, I am only a little overdone.” Again that fatal admission, which from Raeburn's lips was more alarming than a long catalogue of dangerous symptoms from other men!