"We wish this, and wish the other, Mr. Moore," said Karl, sadly, "and you know how impossible it is for us to do more than we are doing. Answer me truly--for I think you can answer. Would there be a fair chance of his recovery if we had other advice than yours? Would there be any better chance of it?" "Honestly speaking I do not think there would. I believe I am doing for him all that can be done." Ann Hopley drew the gate open again, and the doctor went out. Karl passed on through the labyrinth. Sir Adam liked to use his own will in all respects, and it was the first time he had made even a semblance of obeying Mr. Moore's orders of taking rest by daytime. He looked very ill. The once handsome face seemed shrunk to nothing; the short hair was almost white; the grey-blue eyes, beautiful as Karl's, had a strangely wistful, patient look in them. "I thought you would be here, Karlo. I have wanted you ever since daylight." "Are you feeling better, Adam? Free from pain?" "Much better. Quite free from it." "Moore has been saying he wishes we could get you to London, that you might have more skilled advice." "What nonsense!" cried Adam. "As if any advice could really avail me! He knows it would not. Did it avail my father, Karl?" Karl remained silent. There was no answer he could make. "Sit down, old fellow, and tell me all the news. Got a paper with you?" "The papers have not come yet," replied Karl, as he drew a chair to the bedside. "Slow coaches, people are in this world! I shall get up presently." "No, Adam, not to-day. Moore says you must not." "Good old man! he is slow too. But he won't keep me in bed, Karl, when I choose to quit it. Why should I not get up?" continued Sir Adam, his voice taking a tone of its old defiance. "I am the best judge of my own strength. If I lay here for a month of Sundays, Karl, it would not add a day to my life." Perhaps that was true. At any rate, Adam was one whom it was of no use to urge one way or the other. "What's the old adage, Karlo?--'a short life and a merry one?' Mine has not been very merry of late, has it?" "I wish we could get you well, Adam." "Do you? We are told, you know, that all things as they fall, are for the best. The world would say, I expect, that this is. I wonder sometimes, though, how soon or how late the enemy would have shown itself, had my life continued smooth as yours is." Smooth as yours is! The unconscious words brought a pang to Karl's heart; they sounded so like mockery. Heaven alone knew the distress and turbulence of his. "I got Moore into a cosy chat the other day," resumed Sir Adam: "the wife was safe away, trimming the plants in the greenhouse--Rose is nearly as good a gardener as I am, Karl." "I know she is fond of gardening."