him."

Lady Lucy pressed her hand to her eyes in a miserable bewilderment. "I
suppose it will be an immense party. You told me, I think, that Lady
Evelyn had asked Lord Philip Darcy. I should be glad if you would make
her understand that neither I, nor Sir James Chide, nor any other old
friend of Mr. Ferrier can ever meet that man on friendly terms again."
She looked up, her wrinkled cheeks flushed with color, her aspect
threatening and cold.

"Of course!" said Alicia, soothingly. "Hateful man! I too loathe the
thought of meeting him. But you know how delicate Evelyn is, and how she
has been depending on me to help her. Now, oughtn't we to go back to
Oliver?" She rose from her chair.

"Mr. Nixon left some directions to which I must attend," said Lady Lucy,
turning to her desk. "Will you go and read to him?"

Alicia moved away, but paused as she neared the door.

"What did Mr. Nixon say about Oliver's eyes? He has been suffering from
them dreadfully to-day."

"Everything is connected. We can only wait."

"Are you--are you thinking of a nurse?"

"No," said Lady Lucy, decidedly. "His man Richard is an excellent nurse.
I shall never leave him--and you say"--she turned pointedly to look at
Alicia--"you say you will come back?"

"Of course!--of course I will come back!" cried Alicia. Then, stepping
up briskly to Lady Lucy, she stooped and kissed her. "And there is you
to look after, too!"

Lady Lucy allowed the kiss, but made no reply to the remark. Alicia
departed.

* * * * *

She went slowly up the wide oak staircase. How stifling the house was on
this delicious afternoon! Suddenly, in the distance, she heard the sound
of guns--a shooting-party, no doubt, in the Melford woods. Her feet
danced under her, and she gave a sigh of longing for the stubbles and
the sunny fields, and the companionship of handsome men, of health and
vigor as flawless and riotous as her own.

Oliver was lying still, with closed eyes, when she rejoined him. He made
no sign as she opened the door, and she sank down on a stool beside him
and laid her head against his shoulder.

"Dear Oliver, you must cheer up," she said, softly. "You'll be well
soon--quite soon--if you are only patient."

He made no reply.

"Did you like Mr. Nixon?" she asked, in the same caressing voice, gently
rubbing her cheek against his arm.

"One doesn't exactly like one's executioner," he said, hoarsely and
suddenly, but with