Miss Horn had told Mr. Graham what the marquis had said about the tutorship, but the schoolmaster only shook his head with a smile, and went on with his preparations for departure.

The hours went by, the days lengthened into weeks, and the marquis’s condition did not improve.  He had never known sickness and pain before, and like most of the children of this world counted them the greatest of evils; nor was there any sign of their having as yet begun to open his eyes to what those who have seen them call truths—­those who have never even boded their presence count absurdities.

More and more, however, he desired the attendance of Malcolm, who was consequently a great deal about him, serving with a love to account for which those who knew his nature would not have found it necessary to fall back on the instinct of the relation between them.  The marquis had soon satisfied himself that that relation was as yet unknown to him, and was all the better pleased with his devotion and tenderness.

The inflammation continued, increased, spread, and at length the doctors determined to amputate.  But the marquis was absolutely horrified at the idea—­shrank from it with invincible repugnance.  The moment the first dawn of comprehension vaguely illuminated their periphrastic approaches he blazed out in a fury, cursed them frightfully, called them all the contemptuous names in his rather limited vocabulary, and swore he would see them—­uncomfortable first.

“We fear mortification, my lord,” said the physician calmly.

“So do I. Keep it off,” returned the marquis.

“We fear we cannot, my lord.”  It had, in fact, already commenced.

“Let it mortify, then, and be damned,” said his lordship.

“I trust, my lord, you will reconsider it,” said the surgeon.  “We should not have dreamed of suggesting a measure of such severity had we not had reason to dread that the further prosecution of gentler means would but lessen your lordship’s chance of recovery.”

“You mean, then, that my life is in danger?”

“We fear,” said the physician, “that the amputation proposed is the only thing that can save it.”

“What a brace of blasted bunglers you are!” cried the marquis, and, turning away his face, lay silent.

The two men looked at each other and said nothing.

Malcolm was by, and a pang shot to his heart at the verdict.  The men retired to consult.  Malcolm approached the bed.  “My lord!” he said gently.

No reply came.

“Dinna lea ’s oor lanes, my lord—­no yet,” Malcolm persisted.  “What’s to come o’ my leddy?”

The marquis gave a gasp.  Still he made no reply.

“She has naebody, ye ken, my lord, ’at ye wad like to lippen her wi’.”

“You must take care of her when I am gone, Malcolm,” murmured the marquis; and his voice was now gentle with sadness and broken with misery.