at this expedition had been too much for her strength. Only Sydney
knew better, and he would not confide his knowledge to Lady Pynsent,
although he spoke with more freedom to the doctor.

"Yes, she had bad news which distressed her. She fainted upon hearing
it."

"That did the mischief. She was not in a condition to bear excitement,"
said the doctor, rather sharply; but he was sorry for his words, when he
noted the distressed look on Sydney's face. He was the more sorry for
him when it was discovered that he could not be admitted to the
sick-room, for his appearance sent Nan's pulse up to fever-height at
once, although she did not openly confess her agitation. The only thing
that Sydney could do was to retire, baffled and disconsolate, to his
study, where he passed the night in a state of indescribable anxiety and
excitement.

When the fever abated, Nan fell into such prostration of strength that
it was difficult to believe she would ever rise from her bed again.
Weaker than a baby, she could move neither hand nor foot: she had to be
fed like an infant, at intervals of a few minutes, lest the flame of
life, which had sunk so low, should suddenly go out altogether. It was
at this point of her illness that she fainted when Sydney once persuaded
the doctor to let him enter her room, and the nurses had great
difficulty in bringing her back to consciousness. After which, there was
no more talk of visits from her husband, and Sydney had to resign
himself to obtaining news of her from the doctor and the nurses, who, he
fancied, looked at him askance, as blaming him in their hearts for his
wife's illness.

"I can't make Nan out," said Lady Pynsent to him one day. "She is so
depressed--she cries if one looks at her almost--and yet the very thing
that I expected her to be unhappy about does not affect her in the
least."

"What do you mean?" said Sydney.

"Why, her disappointment about her baby, of course. I said something
about it, and she just whispered, 'I'm very glad.' I suppose it is
simply that she feels so weak, otherwise I should have thought it
unnatural in Nan, who was always so fond of children."

Sydney made no answer. He was beginning to find this state of things
intolerable. After all, he asked himself, what had he done that his wife
should be almost killed by the shock of finding out that he had
behaved--as other men behaved? But that sort of reasoning would not do.
His behavior to Milly had been, as he kne