you will step into the library a minute, ma'am," she observed, "I
will tell Mrs. Crampton," and Olivia was left alone in the beautiful
room she remembered so well.

A bright fire burned cheerily on the hearth and the blind hound lay on
the rug; he came up to Olivia and thrust his slender nose into her hand
in a friendly fashion. It was in this room that Mr. Gaythorne
evidently passed his days; the tables bore signs of his numerous
occupations; one table seemed loaded with books of reference. A pile
of neatly written manuscripts were on the escritoire. Portfolios of
engravings and a microscope on a pedestal stand occupied one corner,
and a small inner room seemed full of cabinets and cases of stuffed
birds and butterflies.

Mr. Gaythorne was evidently a collector and a man of culture; the
volumes in the carved oak book-cases were mostly bound in Russian calf.
Olivia had only time to read a few titles when Mrs. Crampton appeared;
her comely face had a pleased smile on it.

"Mr. Gaythorne will be extremely obliged if you will step upstairs and
see him, ma'am," she said, civilly; "he has been wheeled into the
conservatory; my master thinks a deal of his flowers--books and
flowers--they are his main amusements when his cough keeps him from
going out Oh! you must come too, Eros, of course," as the hound
followed them closely.

Galvaston House had been built in rather an unusual fashion; a
conservatory had been thrown out at the back of the first floor landing
and ran along one side of the house, forming a sort of verandah to the
lower rooms.

As Mrs. Crampton opened the glass door, the warm fragrant air met them
deliciously. At the farther end Mr. Gaythorne lay on a couch under a
tall palm, with an oriental quilt thrown over him; his dark crimson
dressing-gown, and black velvet cap gave him a picturesque appearance;
with his white peaked beard and moustache, and his dark sunken eyes, he
would have passed for a Venetian Doge; the mass of brilliant bloom, and
the warm flower-scented air made Olivia slightly giddy.

"This is very kind of you, Mrs. Luttrell," observed Mr. Gaythorne, in a
slow, precise voice, as she stooped over him and took his hand.
"Crampton, bring a chair for the lady. I have been wanting to thank
you for your kind assistance that unlucky evening. I told the doctor
so, and he has been good enough to give you my message."

"Indeed, I did very little," returned Olivia, in her mellow voice.
"You s