“Every-day.”

“Does he say it’s heart-disease?”

“I believe he thinks it.  It might be as much as his reputation is worth to say it in this house.”

“How do you mean?”

“My mother won’t have it said.  She ignores the disease altogether, and will not allow it to be mentioned, or hinted at.  It’s bronchitis, she tells everyone; and of course bronchitis it must be.  I did have a cough when I came here:  my chest is not strong.”

“But why should she ignore heart-disease?”

“There was a fear that Maude would be subject to it when she was a child.  Should it be disclosed to her that it is my complaint, and were I to die of it, she might grow so alarmed for herself as to bring it on; and agitation, as we know, is often fatal in such cases.”

Lord Hartledon sat in a sort of horror.  Maude subject to heart-disease! when at any moment a certain fearful tale, of which he was the guilty centre, might be disclosed to her!  Day by day, hour by hour, he lived in dread of this story’s being brought to light.  This little unexpected communication increased that dread fourfold.

“Have I shocked you?” asked Captain Kirton.  “I may yet get the better of it.”

“I believe I was thinking of Maude,” answered Hartledon, slowly recovering from his stupor.  “I never heard—­I had no idea that Maude’s heart was not perfectly sound.”

“And I don’t know but that it is sound; it was only a fancy when she was a child, and there might have been no real grounds for it.  My mother is full of crotchets on the subject of illness; and says she won’t have anything about heart-disease put into Maude’s head.  She is right, of course, so far, in using precaution; so please remember that I am suffering from any disorder but that,” concluded the young officer with a smile.

“How did yours first show itself?”

“I hardly know.  I used to be subject to sudden attacks of faintness; but I am not sure that they had anything to do with the disease itself.”

Just what Maude was becoming subject to!  She had told him of a fainting-fit in London; had told him of another now.

“I suppose the doctors warn you against sudden shocks, Bob?”

“More than against anything.  I am not to agitate myself in the least; am not to run or jump, or fly into a temper.  They would put me in a glass case, if they could.”

“Well, we’ll see what skill can do for you,” said Hartledon, rousing himself.  “I wonder if a warmer climate would be of service?  You might have that without exertion, travelling slowly.”

“Couldn’t afford it,” was the ingenuous answer.  “I have forestalled my pay as it is.”

Lord Hartledon smiled.  Never a more generous disposition than his; and if money could save this poor Bob Kirton, he should not want it.

Walking forth, he strolled down the road towards Calne, intending to ask a question or two of the surgeon.  Mr. Hillary was at home.  His house was at this end of Calne, just past the Rectory and opposite the church, with a side view of Clerk Gum’s.  The door was open, and Lord Hartledon strolled into the surgery unannounced, to the surprise of Mr. Hillary, who did not know he was at Calne.