Mr. Treffry closed his eyes.

“Yes,” he said; “I’m old.”

The fan had dropped into Christian’s lap; it rested on her white frock like a large crimson leaf; her eyes were fixed on it.

Mr. Treffry looked at her.  “Have you heard from him?” he asked with sudden intuition.

“Last night, in that room, when you thought I was talking to Dominique—­”

The pipe fell from his hand.

“What!” he stammered:  “Back?”

Christian, without looking up, said: 

“Yes, he’s back; he wants me—­I must go to him, Uncle.”

There was a long silence.

“You must go to him?” he repeated.

She longed to fling herself down at his knees, but he was so still, that to move seemed impossible; she remained silent, with folded hands.

Mr. Treffry spoke: 

“You’ll let me know—­before—­you—­go.  Goodnight!”

Christian stole out into the passage.  A bead curtain rustled in the draught; voices reached her.

“My honour is involved, or I would give the case up.”

“He is very trying, poor Nicholas!  He always had that peculiar quality of opposition; it has brought him to grief a hundred times.  There is opposition in our blood; my family all have it.  My eldest brother died of it; with my poor sister, who was as gentle as a lamb, it took the form of doing the right thing in the wrong place.  It is a matter of temperament, you see.  You must have patience.”

“Patience,” repeated Dawney’s voice, “is one thing; patience where there is responsibility is another.  I’ve not had a wink of sleep these last two nights.”

There was a faint, shrill swish of silk.

“Is he so very ill?”

Christian held her breath.  The answer came at last.

“Has he made his will?  With this trouble in the side again, I tell you plainly, Mrs. Decie, there’s little or no chance.”

Christian put her hands up to her ears, and ran out into the air.  What was she about to do, then—­to leave him dying!

On the following day Harz was summoned to the Villa.  Mr. Treffry had just risen, and was garbed in a dressing-suit, old and worn, which had a certain air of magnificence.  His seamed cheeks were newly shaved.

“I hope I see you well,” he said majestically.

Thinking of the drive and their last parting, Harz felt sorry and ashamed.  Suddenly Christian came into the room; she stood for a moment looking at him; then sat down.

“Chris!” said Mr. Treffry reproachfully.  She shook her head, and did not move; mournful and intent, her eyes seemed full of secret knowledge.

Mr. Treffry spoke: 

“I’ve no right to blame you, Mr. Harz, and Chris tells me you came to see me first, which is what I would have expected of you; but you shouldn’t have come back.”

“I came back, sir, because I found I was obliged.  I must speak out.”