the contrary, she was remarkably cool and composed. I almost
admired her self-possession. She does not think Lionel's throat will
suffer; and no doubt she trusts to his sound constitution to pull him
through the fever; so perhaps there is not much reason that she should
betray any anxiety. Oh, yes, she was very brave about it--and--and
business-like. At the same time I confess to a sort of prejudice in
favor of feminine women. I think a little touch of femininity might
improve Miss Burgoyne, for example. However, she knows she is in
possession; and if Linn pulls through all right, there she is, waiting
for him."

It seemed to Francie that her companion had managed to form a pretty
strong dislike towards that young lady, considering how little he could
possibly know of her.

"I suppose one ought not to contemplate such things," he continued, "but
if Linn were to come out of the fever with the loss of his voice, I
suspect he would have little trouble in freeing himself from that
engagement with Miss Burgoyne."

"But surely a woman could not be so base as to keep a man to an
unwilling engagement!" Francie protested, as she had protested before.

"I don't know about that," her companion said. "As I told you, Miss
Burgoyne is a business-like person. Linn, with his handsome figure and
his fine voice, with his popularity and social position, is a very
desirable match for her; but Linn become a nobody--his voice gone--his
social success along with it--would be something entirely different. At
the same time, Dr. Whitsen agrees with her in thinking there won't be
any permanent injury; it is the fever that is the serious thing."

They went back to the house; the reports were no better. And all that
night Lionel's fevered imaginings did not cease. He was haunted now by
visions of cruelties and sufferings being inflicted on some one he knew
in a far-distant land; he pleaded with the torturers; he called for
help; sometimes he said she was dead and released, and there was no more
need for him to go away in a ship to seek for her. The wearied brain
could get no rest at all. Daylight came, and still he lay there, moaning
and murmuring to himself. But help was at hand.

Between ten and eleven, Dr. Ballardyce, who had paid his usual morning
visit, was going away, and Maurice, as his custom was, went down-stairs
with him to hear the last word. He said good-bye to the doctor and
opened the door for him; and just as he did so he found