evening."

"Do. I should like you to have the advice of a specialist, Anderson,
the greatest man in town on the heart."

"But where is the use? If you cannot cure me, he cannot."

"You may live for years and years, and die of something else in the
end."

"Just what was said to my father, who did not live for years and
years," answered the man. "I won't keep you any longer, Rashleigh."

He left the office and went down into the street. As he crossed the
Poultry and got once more into the neighborhood of his own office, one
word kept ringing in his ears, "Doomed."

He arrived at his office and saw his head clerk.

"You don't look well, Mr. Ogilvie."

"Never mind about my looks, Harrison," replied Ogilvie. "I have a
great deal to do, and need your best attention."

"Certainly, sir; but, all the same, you don't look well."

"Looks are nothing," replied Ogilvie. "I shall soon be all right.
Harrison, I am off to Australia on Saturday."

CHAPTER VI.

On that same Tuesday Lord Grayleigh spent a rather anxious day. For
many reasons it would never do for him to press Ogilvie, and yet if
Ogilvie declined to go to Queensland matters might not go quite
smoothly with the new Syndicate. He was the most trusted and eminent
mine assayer in London, and had before now done useful work for
Grayleigh, who was chairman of several other companies. Up to the
present Grayleigh, a thoroughly worldly and hard-headed man of
business, had made use of Ogilvie entirely to his own benefit and
satisfaction. It was distinctly unpleasant to him, therefore, to find
that just at the most crucial moment in his career, when everything
depended on Ogilvie's subservience to his chief's wishes, he should
turn restive.

"That sort of man with a conscience is intolerable," thought Lord
Grayleigh, and then he wondered what further lever he might bring to
bear in order to get Ogilvie to consent to the Australian visit.

He was thinking these thoughts, pacing up and down alone in a retired
part of the grounds, when he heard shrill screams of childish
laughter, and the next moment Sibyl, in one of her white frocks, the
flounces badly torn, her hat off and hair in wild disorder, rushed
past. She was closely followed by Freda, Mabel and Gus being not far
behind.

"Hullo!" said Lord Grayleigh; "come here, little woman, and account
for yourself."

Sibyl paused in her mad career. She longed to say, "I'm not going
to account for myself to you