d one evening at the Two Schooners
at the insensible figures of three men who had each had a modest
half-pint at his expense. It was a pretty conceit and well played, but
the steward, owing to the frenzied efforts of one of the sleeper whom he
had awakened with a quart pot, did not stay to admire it. He finished
up the evening at the Chequers, and after getting wet through on the way
home fell asleep in his wet clothes before the dying fire.

[Illustration: "He finished up the evening at the Chequers."]

He awoke with a bad cold and pains in the limbs. A headache was not
unexpected, but the other symptoms were. With trembling hands he managed
to light a fire and prepare a breakfast, which he left untouched. This
last symptom was the most alarming of all, and going to the door he
bribed a small boy with a penny to go for Dr. Murchison, and sat cowering
over the fire until he came.

"Well, you've got a bad cold," said the doctor, after examining him.
"You'd better get to bed for the present. You'll be safe there."

"Is it dangerous?" faltered the steward.

"And keep yourself warm," said the doctor, who was not in the habit of
taking his patients into his confidence. "I'll send round some
medicine."

"I should like Miss Nugent to know I'm bad," said Mr. Wilks, in a weak
voice.

"She knows that," replied Murchison. "She was telling me about you the
other day."

He put his hand up to his neat black moustache to hide a smile, and met
the steward's indignant gaze without flinching.

"I mean ill," said the latter, sharply.

"Oh, yes," said the other. "Well, you get to bed now. Good morning."

He took up his hat and stick and departed. Mr. Wilks sat for a little
while over the fire, and then, rising, hobbled slowly upstairs to bed and
forgot his troubles in sleep.

He slept until the afternoon, and then, raising himself in bed, listened
to the sounds of stealthy sweeping in the room below. Chairs were being
moved about, and the tinkle of ornaments on the mantelpiece announced
that dusting operations were in progress. He lay down again with a
satisfied smile; it was like a tale in a story-book: the faithful old
servant and his master's daughter. He closed his eyes as he heard her
coming upstairs.

"Ah, pore dear," said a voice.

Mr. Wilks opened his eyes sharply and beheld the meagre figure of Mrs.
Silk. In one hand she held a medicine-bottle and a glass and in the
other paper and firewood.

[Il