Chetwynd had become more tranquillised since he entered the room that had once belonged to him—and that might be said to belong to him still—since it had always been kept for him.

A comfortable bed-chamber, with windows looking upon the garden. Night was now coming on, but it was still light enough to see every object in the room, and Chetwynd examined them with interest—almost with emotion.

The furniture was precisely the same he had left; the narrow iron bed, without curtains, and covered with an eider-down quilt—the easy-chair on which he used to sit and smoke—the books on the shelf and the prints on the walls, were still there, as of yore. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

When he last occupied that room Teresa was his father's ward, and believing himself in love with her, he indulged in dreams of future happiness—for there seemed no obstacle to their union.

Now, all was gone. Teresa had become hateful to him. Yet, somehow or other, her image was associated with the room.

Throwing open the windows, he looked out into the garden, and, after listening to the singing of the birds, sat down in the easy-chair, and tried to lay out a plan for the future.

Impossible! His mind was much too confused for the task. He could decide on nothing. Never having done anything during his life but amuse himself, he had no idea what he should have to do when thrown upon his own resources.

Compelled to examine himself, he found his knowledge of business exceedingly limited. However, he had plenty of friends, and did not doubt they would help him to a situation of some kind.

The thought that most annoyed him was that he had well-nigh spent all his money. He had not enough to pay a passage to Australia.

At length, Norris made his appearance, and explained that he could not come sooner, having had a good deal to do in Mr. Calverley's room. Doctor Spencer had paid a visit to his patient, and had only just left.

“However, all is quiet for the present,” said the butler, “and I will therefore beg you to come with me to my room, where I have got a little supper for you.”

“I shall really be glad of it, Norris. I suppose we sha'n't meet any of the other servants?”

“No; I have taken care of that, sir,” replied Norris.

In the butler's pantry, to which they repaired, they found a cold pigeon-pie and a bottle of claret on the table, and being very hungry, Chetwynd made a hearty meal.

“I'm sorry I cannot give you a very good report of what has been going on upstairs, sir,” said the butler; “though your father is not so bad as I feared. He has been put to bed, and Doctor Spencer has seen him, as I told you. The doctor gave him some stimulant that helped to revive him, and has left a small phial with Mrs. Calverley, from which she is to administer a few drops to him, as she may deem fit. I hope he may last out the night, and I think he will, for he seemed better when I left him just now. Heaven grant you may see him again, sir!”

“I despair of doing anything with him, Norris.”

“Never despair, sir,—never despair!”

“Well, that's a good maxim. Extraordinary things have sometimes been done when all has been deemed hopeless. Fresh wills have been made almost in extremis. It may be so in my father's case, but I don't think it likely.”

“You must remain in the house to-night, sir. It's your last chance.”

“Is there a chance, Norris?”

“You shall judge for yourself, sir. When I was in your father's room just now, standing by his bedside, he spoke to me about you in a way that showed his good feelings towards you had returned. Evidently, he didn't want Mrs. Calverley to hear what he said; but she was in the dressing-room, though the door was partly open. He asked me, in a low voice, if you were really gone; and seemed much relieved when I told him you were still in the house, but begged me not to mention it to his wife. 'It may alarm, her, Norris,' he said. I couldn't say anything more to him at the time, for she came out of the dressing-room; but I shall have another opportunity to-night. Of one thing I'm certain, sir; but I shall have another opportunity to-night. Of one thing I'm certain, sir—you haven't lost your hold of your father's affections.”

At this moment a slight sound outside caught Chet-wynd's ear.

Wishing to ascertain if there was a listener, he immediately got up, and, opening the door, looked along the passage right and left; but it was quite dark, and he could distinguish no one.

“It was a false alarm,” he said, as he came back. “For the moment I fancied it might be Mrs. Calverley.”

“No fear of that, sir; she never comes down here.”

“Let us go back to my room. I shall feel easier there. After what you've told me, Norris, I shan't think of leaving to-night.”

“That's the right thing to do, sir,” cried the butler, joyfully.

“Bring the bottle of claret and the glasses with you, and come along,” said Chetwynd.