He drooped towards his wife.  Suddenly she sat down beside him, holding his hand.

“Would you rather not be examined to-night?” she asked him.

“Examined!” he said, in a startled voice.

“Well, dearest, these doctors—­”

Nigel, with a great effort, sat up as before.

“I won’t be bothered to-night,” he said, with the weak anger of an utterly worn-out man.  “I—­I can’t stand anything more.  I—­can’t—­stand—­” His voice died away.

“We’d better go,” whispered Hartley.  “To-morrow morning.”

He looked at Mrs. Armine, and moved towards the door.  Isaacson got up.

“We will leave the patient to-night,” he said to Mrs. Armine, in an expressionless voice.

“Yes?”

“But may I have a word with you, please, in the other room?”

Then he followed Hartley.

He caught him up in the passage.

“It’s absolutely no use to-night,” said Hartley.  “Any examination would only make matters worse.  He’s not in a fit state mentally to go through it so late.”

[Illustration]

“I think it will be best to wait till to-morrow.”

“And then, directly after the consultation is over, I must really get away.  That is, if you are willing to—­”

“You may leave everything in my hands.”

“She hates me now!” the young man said, almost plaintively.  “Did you ever see such a change?”

“I’m going to speak with her in the first saloon, so I’ll leave you,” said Isaacson.

Hartley had his hand on one of the cabin doors.

“Then I’ll go in here.  I sleep here.”

“Good night,” Isaacson said.

“Oh! you won’t want me again?”

“Not to-night.”

“Good night then.”

He opened the cabin door and disappeared within, while Isaacson walked on to the first saloon.

He had to wait in it for nearly ten minutes before he heard Mrs. Armine coming.  But he would not have minded much waiting an hour.  He felt within him the determination of an iron will now completely assured.  And strength can wait.

Mrs. Armine came in and shut the door gently behind her.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said.  “I was taking my husband to his cabin.  He’s going to bed.  Where is Doctor Hartley?”

“He’s gone to his cabin.”

Something in Isaacson’s tone seemed suddenly to strike her, and she sent him a look of sharp enquiry.

“Will you sit down for a minute?” he said.

She sat down at once, still keeping her eyes fixed upon him.  He sat down near her.

“Doctor Hartley is going away to-morrow morning,” Isaacson said.

“He promised to stay several days with us to preside over my husband’s convalescence.”

“He’s going away, and there’s no question of convalescence.”

“I don’t understand you!”

“I’ll make myself plain.  Your husband is not a convalescent.  Your husband is a very sick man.”