And vaguely there ran through his mind the phrases of a letter handed to him by his old uncle’s solicitor, together with the will:  “Keep them for my sake, my dear boy; enjoy them, as I have done.  You will be tempted to sell them; but don’t, if you can help it.  The money would be soon spent; whereas the beauty of these things, the associations connected with them, the thoughts they arouse—­would give you pleasure for a lifetime.  I have loved you like a father, and I have left you all the little cash I possess.  Use that as you will.  But that you should keep and treasure the gems which have been so much to me, for my sake—­and beauty’s—­would give me pleasure in the shades—­’quo dives Tullus et Ancus’—­you know the rest.  You are ambitious, Claude.  That’s well.  But keep you heart green.”

What precisely the old fellow might have meant by those last words, Faversham had often rather sorely wondered, though not without guesses at the answer.  But anyway he had loved his adopted father; he protested it; and he would not sell the gems.  They might represent his “luck”—­such as there was of it—­who knew?

* * * * *

The question of removing his patient to a convalescent home at Keswick was raised by Undershaw at the end of the third week from the accident.  He demanded to see Melrose one morning, and quietly communicated the fact that he had advised Faversham to transfer himself to Keswick as soon as possible.  The one nurse now remaining would accompany him, and he, Undershaw, would personally superintend the removal.

Melrose looked at him with angry surprise.

“And pray what is the reason for such an extraordinary and unnecessary proceeding?”

“I understood,” said Undershaw, smiling, “that you were anxious to have your house to yourself again as soon as possible.”

“I defended my house against your attack.  But that’s done with.  And why you should hurry this poor fellow now into new quarters, in his present state, when he might stay quietly here till he is strong enough for a railway journey, I cannot conceive!”

Undershaw, remembering the first encounter between them, could not prevent his smile becoming a grin.

“I am delighted Mr. Faversham has made such a good impression on you, sir.  But I understand that he himself feels a delicacy in trespassing upon you any longer.  I know the house at Keswick to which I propose to take him.  It is excellently managed.  We can get a hospital motor from Carlisle, and of course I shall go with him.”

“Do you suggest that he has had any lack of attention here from me or my servants?” said Melrose, hotly.

“By no means.  But—­well, sir, I will be open with you.  Mr. Faversham in my opinion wants a change of scene.  He has been in that room for three weeks, and—­he understands there is no other to which he can be moved.  It would be a great advantage, too, to be able to carry him into a garden.  In fact”—­the little doctor spoke with the same cool frankness he had used in his first interview with Melrose—­“your house, Mr. Melrose, is a museum; but it is not exactly the best place for an invalid who is beginning to get about again.”