Mrs. Curtis, between nursing, anxiety, and worry, looked lamentably knocked up, and at last Grace and Rachel prevailed on her to take a drive, leaving Rachel on a sofa in her sitting-room, to what was no small luxury to her just at present—­that of being miserable alone—­ without meeting any one’s anxious eyes, or knowing that her listlessness was wounding the mother’s heart.  Yet the privilege only resulted in a fresh perturbation about the title-deeds, and longing to consult some one who could advise and sympathize.  Ermine Williams would have understood and made her Colonel give help, but Ermine seemed as unattainable as Nova Zembla, and she only heard that the Colonel was absent.  Her head as aching with the weary load of doubt, and she tried to cheat her woe by a restless movement to the windows.  She saw Captain Keith riding to the door.  It suddenly darted into her mind that here was one who could and would help her.  He could see Mauleverer and ascertain what had become of the deeds; he could guess at the amount of danger!  She could not forget his kindness on the night of Lovedy’s illness, or the gentleness of his manner about the woodcuts, and with a sudden impulse she rang the bell and desired that Captain Keith might be shown in.  She was still standing leaning on the table when he entered.

“This is very good in you,” he said; “I met your mother and sister on my way up, and they asked me to leave word of Conrade being better, but they did not tell me I should see you.”

“Conrade is better?” said Rachel, sitting down, unable to stand longer.

“Yes, his throat is better.  Miss Williams’s firmness saved him.  They think him quite out of danger.”

“Thank Heaven!  Oh, I could never have seen his mother again!  Oh, she has been the heroine!”

“In the truest sense of the word,” he answered.  And Rachel looked up with one moment’s brightening at the old allusion, but her oppression was too great for cheerfulness, and she answered—­

“Dear Fanny, yes, she will be a rebuke to me for ever!  But,” she added, before he had time to inquire for her health, “I wanted—­I wanted to beg you to do me a service.  You were so kind the other night.”

His reply was to lean earnestly forward, awaiting her words, and she told him briefly of her grievous perplexity about the title-deeds.

“Then,” he said, “you would wish for me to see the man and ascertain how he has disposed of them.”

“I should be most grateful!”

“I will do my utmost.  Perhaps I may not succeed immediately, as I believe visitors are not admitted every day, and he is said to be busy preparing his defence, but I will try, and let you know.”

“Thanks, thanks!  The doubt is terrible, for I know worry about it would distract my mother.”

“I do not imagine,” he said, “that much worse consequences than worry could ensue.  But there are none more trying.”