“Then let me send a telegram from the 'Ashborough Times' office,” said Donovan to her in one of the momentary pauses. “I have sent for your cousin and Mrs. Craigie and for Brian.” For the first time Erica's outward composure gave way. Her mouth began to quiver and her eyes to fill. “Oh! Thank you,” she said; and there was something in her voice that went to Donovan's heart. CHAPTER XL. Mors Janua Vitae Therefore to whom turn I but to Thee, the ineffable Name? Builder and maker Thou, of houses not made with hands! What, have fear of change from Thee who art ever the same? Doubt that thy power can fill the heart that Thy power expands? And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence For the fullness of the days? Have we withered or agonized? Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue thence? Why rushed the discords in, but that harmony should be prized? R. Browning Early on the Monday morning three anxious-looking travelers arrived by the first train from London, and drove as fast as might be to the Park Hotel at Ashborough. They were evidently expected for the moment their cab stopped a door on one of the upper floors was opened, and some one ran quickly down the stairs to meet them. “Is he better?” asked Aunt Jean. Erica shook her head and, indeed, her face told them much more than the brief words of the telegram. She was deathly white, and had that weighed-down look which people wear when they have watched all night beside one who is hovering between life and death. She seemed to recover herself a little as her hand rested for a moment in Brian's. “He has been asking for you,” she said. “Do go to him. The faintness has quite passed off, and they say inflammation has set in; he is in frightful pain.” Her lips grew a shade whiter as she spoke and, with an effort, she seemed to turn away from some horrible recollection. “There is some breakfast ready for you in here,” she said to her aunt. “You must have something before you see him. Oh, I am so glad you have come, auntie!” Aunt Jean kissed her and cried a little; trouble always brought these two together however much they disagreed at other times. Tom did not say a word, but began to cut a loaf to pieces as though they had the very largest appetites; the great pile of slices lay untouched on the trencher, but the cutting had served its purpose of a relief to his pent-up feelings.