’In another half-hour I shall leave Gladwyn.  I think I am glad to go, things are so miserable here, and one loses patience sometimes.  I wish I could know poor Susan Locke’s fate before I go; but Giles seems to have little hope.  Take care of yourself for my sake, Ursula.  I have grown to love you very dearly.

’—­Your affectionate friend,

‘Gladys.’

Mr. Hamilton came again early in the evening, and I took the opportunity of paying Phoebe another visit.

She was lying with her eyes closed, and looked very ill and exhausted,—­alarmingly so, I thought:  her emotion had nearly spent itself, and she was now passive and waiting for the worst.

‘Let me know when it happens,’ she whispered.  ’I have no hope now, but I will try and bear it.’  And she drew my hands to her lips and kissed them:  ’they have touched Susan, they are doing my work, they are blessed hands to me.’  And then she seemed unable to bear more.

When Mr. Hamilton paid his final visit he announced his intention of remaining in the house.  ’There will be a change one way or another before long, and I shall not leave you by yourself to-night,’ he said quietly; and in my heart I was not sorry to hear this.  He told me that there was a good fire downstairs, and that he meant to take possession of a very comfortable arm-chair, but that he wanted to remain in the sick-room for half an hour or so.

I fancied that his professional eyes had already detected some change.  Presently he walked away to the fireplace and stood looking down into the flames in rather an absent way.

I could not help looking at him once or twice, he seemed so absorbed in thought; his dark face looked rigid, his lips firmly closed, and his forehead slightly puckered.

More than once I had puzzled myself over a fancied resemblance of Mr. Hamilton to some picture I had seen.  All at once I remembered the subject.  It was the picture of a young Christian sleeping peacefully just before he was called to his combat with wild beasts in the amphitheatre:  the keeper was even then opening the door:  the lions were waiting for their prey.  The face was boyish, but still Mr. Hamilton reminded me of him.  And there was a picture of St. Augustine sitting with his mother Monica, that reminded me of Mr. Hamilton too.  I had called him plain, and Jill thought him positively ugly, but, after all, there was something noble in his expression, a power that made itself felt.

Just then the lines of his face relaxed and softened; he half smiled, looked up, and our eyes met.  I was terribly abashed at the thought that he should find me watching him; but, to my surprise, his face brightened, and he roused himself and crossed the room.

’I was dreaming, I think, but you woke me.  Are you very tired?  Shall I take your place?’ But before I could reply his manner changed, and he stooped over the bed, and then looked at me with a smile.