ister, Lady Mardykes, was downstairs in
the same room. On approaching, she heard her sister Mary's voice talking
with her, and found them together. Mary, finding that she could not
sleep, had put on her clothes again, and come down to keep her sister
company. The room looked more comfortable now. There were candles
lighted, and a good fire burnt in the grate; tea-things stood on a
little table near the fire, and the two sisters were talking, Lady
Mardykes appearing more collected, and only they two in the room.

"Have you seen him, Maud?" cried Lady Mardykes, rising and hastily
approaching her the moment she entered.

"Yes, dear; and talked with him, and----"

"Well?"

"And I think very much as I did before. I think he is nervous, he says
he is not ill; but he is nervous and whimsical, and as men always are
when they happen to be out of sorts, very positive; and of course the
only thing that can quite undeceive him is the lapse of the time he has
fixed for his prediction, as it is sure to pass without any tragic
result of any sort. We shall then all see alike the nature of his
delusion."

"O, Maud, if I were only sure you thought so! if I were sure you really
had hopes! Tell me, Maud, for God's sake, what you really think."

Lady Walsingham was a little disconcerted by the unexpected directness
of her appeal.

"Come, darling, you must not be foolish," she said; "we can only talk of
impressions, and we are imposed upon by the solemnity of his manner, and
the fact that he evidently believes in his own delusion; every one does
believe in his own delusion--there is nothing strange in that."

"O, Maud, I see you are not convinced; you are only trying to comfort
me. You have no hope--none, none, none!" and she covered her face with
her hands, and wept again convulsively.

Lady Walsingham was silent for a moment, and then with an effort said,
as she placed her hand on her sister's arm, "You see, dear Janet, there
is no use in my saying the same thing over and over again; an hour or
two will show who is right. Sit down again, and be like yourself. My
maid told me that you had sent to the parlour for Doctor Torvey; he must
not find you so. What would he think? Unless you mean to tell him of
Bale's strange fancy; and a pretty story that would be to set afloat in
Golden Friars. I think I hear him coming."

So, in effect, he was. Doctor Torvey--with the florid gravity of a man
who, having just swallowed a bottle of port