and
leading him over the turf before he stopped some distance now from the
house.

"What is it?" said Gilmore then.

"That noise; it was old Distie at his window. I could just make him
out. He had been listening to what we said."

"Listeners never hear--" began Gilmore.

"Any good of themselves," said Macey, finishing the old saying.

"Well, I don't mind."

"More don't I."

And the two lads went in.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

SYMPATHY.

Those were sad and weary hours at the Little Manor, and when Vane's
delirium was at its height and he was talking most rapidly, Doctor Lee
for almost the first time in his life felt doubtful of his own knowledge
and ability to treat his patient. He was troubled with a nervous
depression, which tempted him to send for help, and he turned to
white-faced, red-eyed Aunt Hannah.

"I'm afraid I'm not treating him correctly," he whispered. "I think I
will send Bruff over to the station to telegraph for help."

But Aunt Hannah shook her head.

"If you cannot cure him, dear," she said firmly, "no one can. No, do
not send."

"But he is so very bad," whispered the doctor; "and when this fever
passes off he will be as weak as a babe."

"Then we must nurse him back to strength," said Aunt Hannah. "No, dear,
don't send. It is not a case of doubt. You know exactly what is the
matter, and of course how to treat him for the best."

The doctor was silenced and stood at the foot of the bed, while Aunt
Hannah laid her cool, soft hand upon the sufferer's burning brow.

Neither aunt nor uncle troubled to think much about the causes of the
boy's injuries; their thoughts were directed to the nursing and trying
to allay the feverish symptoms, for the doctor was compelled to own that
his nephew's condition was grave, the injuries being bad enough alone
without the exposure to the long hours of a misty night just on the
margin of a moor.

It was not alone in the chamber that sympathetic conversation went on,
for work was almost at a standstill in house and garden. For the three
servants talked together, as they found out how much Vane had had to do
with their daily life, and what a blank his absence on a bed of sickness
had caused.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Martha, "poor, poor fellow!"

The tears were rolling down her cheeks, and to keep up an ample supply
of those signs of sorrow she took a very long sip of warm tea, for the
pot had been kept going almost incessantly since Vane had