his hand on the boy's fair tumbled curls, turned calmly to
the medical men who, attached to the household, had been on the spot at
once.

"What is the matter?"

"Fractured arm, contusion; nothing serious, nothing at all, at his age,"
replied the surgeon. "When he wakes out of the lethargy he will tell you
so himself, Mr. Cecil."

"You are certain?"--do what he would his voice shook a little; his hand
had not shaken, two days before, when nothing less than ruin or ransom
had hung on his losing or winning the race.

"Perfectly certain," answered the surgeon cheerfully. "He is not
overstrong, to be sure, but the contusions are slight; he will be out of
that bed in a fortnight."

"How did he fall?"

But while they told him he scarcely heard; he was looking at the
handsome Antinous-like form of the lad as it lay stretched helpless
and stricken before him; and he was remembering the death-bed of their
mother, when the only voice he had ever reverenced had whispered, as she
pointed to the little child of three summers: "When you are a man take
care of him, Bertie." How had he fulfilled the injunction? Into how much
brilliantly tinted evil had he not led him--by example, at least?

The surgeon touched his arm apologetically, after a lengthened silence:

"Your brother will be best unexcited when he comes to himself, sir;
look--his eyes are unclosing now. Could you do me the favor to go to his
lordship? His grief made him perfectly wild--so dangerous to his life at
his age. We could only persuade him to retire, a few minutes ago, on the
plea of Mr. Berkeley's safety. If you could see him----"

Cecil went, mechanically almost, and with a grave, weary depression on
him; he was so unaccustomed to think at all, so utterly unaccustomed to
think painfully, that he scarcely knew what ailed him. Had he had his
old tact about him, he would have known how worse than useless it would
be for him to seek his father in such a moment.

Lord Royallieu was lying back exhausted as Cecil opened the door of his
private apartments, heavily darkened and heavily perfumed; at the turn
of the lock he started up eagerly.

"What news of him?"

"Good news, I hope," said Cecil gently, as he came forward. "The
injuries are not grave, they tell me. I am so sorry that I never watched
his fencing, but--"

The old man had not recognized him till he heard his voice, and he
waved him off with a fierce, contemptuous gesture; the grief for his
favor