ad lain so motionless,
in so continued a silence, it had only been because he was thinking
with redoubled intensity.

Presently, as Rainham's lips moved slightly, he drew nearer, and
bent his head over him.

"Don't talk," he said nervously, as Rainham appeared to struggle
with the difficulty of utterance; "don't tire yourself. I've only
come to look at you. Wait until you are a little stronger."

Rainham raised his hand impatiently.

"It won't tire me, and tired or not there are things I must speak
of. Is she in the room--the nurse?"

He spoke slowly, and with a visible effort; but his voice, although
it scarcely rose above a whisper, and seemed shadowy and far away,
was deliberate and distinct. Oswyn shook his head.

"She has given me half an hour; you must not abuse it. I have
promised to keep you quiet. I really believe you are a little
better."

"I am well enough for what I want--to talk to you. After that, I
will be as quiet as you like, for as long as you like. Only I have
been keeping myself for this all these last few days that I have
lain here like a log, listening to the ticking of that merciless
clock. They thought I was sleeping, unconscious, very likely. I have
been collecting myself, thinking immensely, waiting for this."

"I have always been here," said the other simply, "in case you
should send for me. I have been painting Margot. She is a dear
little soul; she misses you sadly."

"It is of her partly that I must speak. I have left all I can to
her. If you will sometimes give her a thought; she is absolutely
without belongings. I don't wish to make it a charge on you, a
burden, only sometimes it has struck me lately that you were
interested in the child, that you liked her, and I have taken the
liberty of making you a sort of guardian. She could live with the
Bullens----"

"Oh, I like her--I like her!" cried Oswyn, with a short laugh. Then
he went on more seriously, half-apologetically, as though the other
might have found his mirth ill-timed: "My dear friend, it is a great
honour, a great pleasure, you give me. I, too, have no belongings,
no interests; this might be a great one. I never thought of it
before, I must admit; but I will adopt her. She shall live with me,
if it's necessary. Only, ah! let us hope still that this may not be
necessary, that it is premature."

The other held up a thin hand deprecatingly.

"Ah, don't let us fence with the truth. I have always seen it
coming, and