“I wish he had never been born!” passionately uttered Lady Levison; “unless he had had a different father.”

That the last sentence, and the bitter scorn of its tone, would have provoked a reprisal from Sir Francis, his flashing countenance betrayed.  But at that moment a servant entered the room.

“I beg your pardon, sir.  That man, Brown, forced his way into the hall, and—­”

“I can’t see him—­I won’t see him!” interrupted Sir Francis backing to the furthest corner of the room, in what looked very like abject terror, as if he had completely lost his presence of mind.  Lady Levison’s lips curled.

“We got rid of him, sir, after a dreadful deal of trouble, I was about to say, but while the door was open in the dispute, Mr. Meredith entered.  He has gone into the library, sir, and vows he won’t stir till he sees you, whether you are sick or well.”

A moment’s pause, a half-muttered oath, and the Sir Francis quitted the room.  The servant retired, and Lady Levison caught up her child.

“Oh, Franky dear,” she wailed forth, burying her face in his warm neck.  “I’d leave him for good and all, if I dared; but I fear he might keep you.”

Now, the secret was, that for the last three days Sir Francis had been desperately ill, obliged to keep his bed, and could see nobody, his life depending upon quiet.  Such was the report, or something equivalent to it, which had gone in to Lord Headthelot, or rather, to the official office, for that renowned chief was himself out of town; it had also been delivered to all callers at Sir Francis Levison’s house; the royal truth being that Sir Francis was as well as you or I, but, from something that had transpired touching one of his numerous debts, did not dare to show himself.  That morning the matter had been arranged—­patched up for a time.

“My stars, Levison!” began Mr. Meredith, who was a whipper-in of the ministry, “what a row there is about you!  Why, you look as well as ever you were.”

“A great deal better to-day,” coughed Sir Francis.

“To think that you should have chosen the present moment for skulking!  Here have I been dancing attendance at your door, day after day, in a state of incipient fever, enough to put me into a real one, and could neither get admitted nor a letter taken up.  I should have blown the house up to-day and got in amidst the flying debris.  By the way, are you and my lady two just now?”

“Two?” growled Sir Francis.

“She was stepping into her carriage yesterday when they turned me from the door, and I made inquiry of her.  Her ladyship’s answer was, that she knew nothing either of Francis or his illness.”

“Her ladyship is subject to flights of distemper,” chafed Sir Francis.  “What desperate need have you of me, just now?  Headthelot’s away and there’s nothing doing.”

“Nothing doing up here; a deal too much doing somewhere else.  Attley’s seat’s in the market.”