Celia went up to the sick-room. She saw at a glance that the Marquess's

condition had improved; he was, of course, still dangerously ill, and

very weak; but his eyes, as they rested on her, were perfectly

intelligent and he smiled slightly as she bent over him. Then she turned

away to Doctor Scott and told him of Mr. Clendon's arrival and desire to

see the Marquess.

"I don't think he can do any harm, if he'll be quiet," said the doctor.

"At any rate, there is not sufficient reason for refusing to show the

paper to the Marquess."

Celia knelt beside the bed and conveyed gently Mr. Clendon's request for

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an interview.

"Mr. Clendon?" repeated the Marquess, knitting his brows. "I don't know

him, my dear."

Then, slowly, she showed him the paper; but he could not read the letter

on it and she told him what it was. A flush rose to the white face, and

he nodded once or twice; and it seemed to Celia that the inclination of

the head had in it something more than a consent to receive the visitor,

an indication of some resolution, decision. She went downstairs, and

told Mr. Clendon the Marquess would see him.

The old man rose, with the aid of a stick, and followed her through the

hall; he looked about him, not curiously, but musingly; and he paused

for a second or two before the portrait of the young man in hunting kit,

the Marquess's elder brother; the pause was almost imperceptible, but

Celia, remembering the scene between herself and the Marquess on the

night of his arrival, noticed the pause; but the old man's face conveyed

nothing and was as impassive as usual. She took him to the Marquess's

room. Lord Sutcombe, at sight of his visitor, tried to rise; but fell

back, stretching out his hand, murmuring, "Wilfred!" Then he looked at the nurse and doctor. "Will you please

leave us alone for a little while. This gentleman is----"

Mr. Clendon laid his hand upon his brother's arm and stopped him.

Celia went downstairs, and found Mr. Jacobs standing before the portrait

of the Marquess's brother.

"Fine picture that, Miss Grant," he said. "He must have been a splendid

fellow: great pity he died. Oh, yes, I know who it is," he went on,

answering the question in Celia's eyes. "I've been making acquaintance

with the family portraits: very fond of pictures; almost as fond as I am

of cattle; but as I shan't be able to afford both, why----!"




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