“They talk of it.  I shall oppose it.”

“I hope not!—­for Lady Lucy’s sake.  She is so hopeful about it, and she is not fit herself to spend the winter in England.”

“My mother must go,” said Oliver, closing his eyes.

“She will never leave you.”

Marsham made no reply; then, without closing his eyes again, he said, between his teeth:  “What is the use of going from one hell to another hell—­through a third—­which is the worst of all?”

“You dread the journey?” said Sir James, gently.  “But there are ways and means.”

“No!” Oliver’s voice was sudden and loud.  “There are none!—­that make any difference.”

Sir James was left perplexed, cudgelling his brains as to what to attempt next.  It was Marsham, however, who broke the silence.  With his dimmed sight he looked, at last, intently, at his companion.

“Is—­is Miss Mallory still at Beechcote?”

Sir James moved involuntarily.

“Yes, certainly.”

“You see a great deal of her?”

“I do—­I—­” Sir James cleared his throat a little—­I look upon her as my adopted daughter.”

“I should like to be remembered to her.”

“You shall be,” said Sir James, rising.  “I will give her your message.  Meanwhile, may I tell Lady Lucy that you feel a little easier this morning?”

Oliver slowly and sombrely shook his head.  Then, however, he made a visible effort.

“But I want to see her.  Will you tell her?”

Lady Lucy, however, was already in the room.  Probably she had heard the message from the open doorway where she often hovered.  Oliver held out his hand to her, and she stooped and kissed him.  She asked him a few low-voiced questions, to which he mostly answered by a shake of the head.  Then she attempted some ordinary conversation, during which it was very evident that the sick man wished to be left alone.

She and Sir James retreated to her sitting-room, and there Lady Lucy, sitting helplessly by the fire, brushed away some tears of which she was only half conscious.  Sir James walked up and down, coming at last to a stop beside her.

“It seems to me this is as much a moral as a physical breakdown.  Can nothing be done to take him out of himself?—­give him fresh heart?”

“We have tried everything—­suggested everything.  But it seems impossible to rouse him to make an effort.”

Sir James resumed his walk—­only to come to another stop.

“Do you know—­that he just now—­sent a message by me to Miss Mallory?”

Lady Lucy started.

“Did he?” she said, faintly, her eyes on the blaze.  He came up to her.

“There is a woman who would never have deserted you!—­or him!” he said, in a burst of irrepressible feeling, which would out.

Lady Lucy’s glance met his—­silently, a little proudly.  She said nothing and presently he took his leave.