But far from being better the following morning, Denis was much worse. Charles, who had sat up most of the night with him, and who came down to breakfast more cool and indifferent than ever, at once extinguished any hope that still remained that he would be able to take his part that night.

Great was the consternation of the whole party. A vague feeling of resentment against Denis prevailed among the womankind, who, having all preserved their own healths intact for the occasion (and each by her own account was a chronic invalid), felt it was extremely inconsiderate, not to say indelicate, of "a great man like him" to spoil everything by being laid up at the wrong moment.

But what was to be done? Denis was ill, and without Denis the play could not proceed. Must the whole thing be given up? There was a general chorus of lamentation.

"I see no alternative," said Charles, "unless some Curtius will leap into the gulf, and go through the piece reading the part, and that is always a failure at the best of times."

At that moment I had an idea; it broke upon me like a flash of lightning: Valentine Carr! I had seen him act the very part Denis was to have taken, in the theatricals on the steamer. How wonderfully fortunate that it should have occurred to me!

I told Charles that I had a friend who had acted that part only the week before.

"You!" cried Charles, losing all his customary apathy—"you don't say so! Great heavens, where is he? Out with him! Where is he at this moment? England, Ireland, Scotland, or Wales? Where is this treasure concealed?"

"Oh, Colonel Middleton! Oh, how delightful!" cried a number of gentle voices; and I was instantly surrounded, and all manner of questions put to me. Would he come? Was he tall? And oh! had he a beard? He had not a beard, had he? because it would not do for the part. Did he act well? When had he acted? Where had he acted?

Sir George interrupted the torrent of interrogation.

"Do you think he would come?" he asked.

"I am almost sure he would," I said; "he is a great friend of mine."

"It would be an exceedingly good-natured and friendly act," said Sir George. "Charles—no, I mean Ralph—bring a telegraph form, and if you will write a telegram at once, Middleton, I will send it to the station directly. We shall have an answer by twelve o'clock, and until then we will not give up all hope, though of course we must not count on your friend being able to come at such short notice."

The telegram was written and despatched, Carr having given me an address where letters would find him, though he said he did not put up there. I sincerely hoped he would not be out of the way on this occasion, and I was not a little pleased when, a few hours later, I received a telegram in reply saying that he could come, and should arrive by the afternoon train which had brought me the day before.

The spirits of the whole party revived. I (as is often the case) was in high favor with all. Even poor Denis, who had been very much depressed, was sufficiently relieved by the news—so Charles said—to smile over his beef-tea. Lady Mary, who appeared at luncheon-time, treated me with marked consideration. I had already laid them under an obligation, she said, graciously, by undertaking the care of the jewels, and now they were indebted to me a second time. Was Mr. Carr one of Lord Barrantyne's sons, or was he one of the Crampshire Carrs? She had known Lady Caroline Carr in her youth, but had not met her of late years. She seemed surprised when I told her that Carr was an American, and he sank, I could see, at once in her estimation; but she was kind enough to say that she was not a person who was prejudiced in any way by a man's nationality, and that she believed that very respectable people might be found among the Americans.

The day passed in the usual preparations for an entertainment. If I went into the hall I was sure to run against gardeners carrying in quantities of hot-house plants, with which the front of the stage was being hidden from the foot-lights to the floor; if I wandered into the library I interrupted Aurelia and Ralph rehearsing their parts alone, with their heads very close together; if I hastily withdrew into the morning-room, it was only to find Charles upon his knees luring Evelyn to immediate flight, in soul-stirring accents, before an admiring audience of not unenvious young ladyhood.

"Now, Evelyn, I ask you as a favor," said Charles, as I came in, moving towards her on his knees, "will you come a little closer when I am down? I don't mind wearing out my knees the least in a good cause; but I owe it to myself, as a wicked baron in hired tights, not to cross the stage in that position. Any impression I make will be quite lost if I do; and unless you keep closer, I shall never be able to reach your hand and clasp it to a heart at least two yards away. Now,"—rising, and crossing over to the other side—"I shall begin again. 'Ah! but my soul's adored—'"

"Is Middleton here?" asked a voice in the door-way. It was Sir George Danvers who had put his head into the room, and I went to him.

"I say, Middleton," he began, twirling his stick, and looking rather annoyed, "it is excessively provoking. I never thought of it before, but I find there is not a bed in the house. Every cranny has been filled. It never occurred to me that we had not a room for your friend, now that he is kind enough to come. And it looks so rude, when it is so exceedingly good-natured of him to come at all."

"Oh, dear! anywhere will do," I said.

"There is not even room for Ralph in the house," continued Sir George. "I have put him up at the lodge," pointing to a small house at the end of the drive, near the great entrance gates. "There is another nice little room leading out of his," he added, hesitating—"but really I don't like to suggest—"

"Oh, that will do perfectly!" I broke in. "Carr is not the sort of fellow to care a straw how he is put up. He will be quite content anywhere."

"Come and see it," he said, leading the way out-of-doors. "I would have turned out Charles in a moment, and given Carr his room; but Denis is really rather ill, and Charles sees to him, as he is next door."

I could not help saying how much I liked Charles.

"Strangers always do," he replied, coldly, as we walked towards the lodge. "I constantly hear him spoken of as a most agreeable young man."

"And he is so handsome."

"Yes," replied Sir George, in the same hard tone, "handsome and agreeable. I have no doubt he appears so to others; but I, who have had to pay the debts and hush up the scandals of my handsome and agreeable son, find Ralph, who has not a feature in his face, the better-looking of the two. I know Charles is head over ears in debt at this moment, but,"—with sudden acrimony—"he will not get another farthing from me. It is pouring water into a sieve."

"Ralph is marrying a sweetly pretty creature," I said, with warmth, desirous of changing the subject.

"Yes, she is very pretty," said Sir George, without enthusiasm; "but I wish she had belonged to one of our county families. It is nothing in the way of connection. She has no relations to speak of—one uncle living in Australia, and another, whom she goes to on Saturday, in Ireland. There seems to be no money either. It is Lady Mary's doing. She took a fancy to her abroad; and to say the truth, I did not wish to object, for at one time there seemed to be an attraction between Ralph and his cousin Evelyn Derrick, which his aunt and I were both glad to think had passed over. I do not approve of marriages between cousins."

We had reached the lodge by this time, and I was shown a tidy little room leading out of the one Ralph was occupying, in which I assured Sir George that Carr would be perfectly comfortable, much to the courteous old gentleman's relief, though I could see that he was evidently annoyed at not being able to put him up in the house.

In the afternoon, towards five o'clock, Carr arrived. I went into the hall to meet him, and to bring him into the drawing-room myself. Just as we came in, and while I was introducing him to Sir George, Ralph and Aurelia, who were sitting together as usual, started a lovers' squabble.

"Oh my!" said Ralph, suddenly.

"It is all your fault. You jogged my elbow," came Aurelia's quick rejoinder.

"My dearest love, I did not," returned Ralph, on his knees, pocket-handkerchief in hand.

It appeared that between them they had managed to transfer Amelia's tea from her cup to the front of her dress.

"You did; you know you did," she said, evidently ready to cry with vexation. "I was just going to drink, and you had your arm round the back of my—"

"Hush, Aurelia, I beg," expostulated Charles. "Aunt Mary and I are becoming embarrassed. It is not necessary to enter into particulars as to the exact locality of Ralph's arm."

"Round the back of my chair," pouted Aurelia.

"It is all right, Aunt Mary," called Charles, cheerfully, to that lady. "Only the back of her chair. We took alarm unnecessarily. Just as it should be. I have done the same myself with—a different chair."

"He is always doing it," continued Aurelia, unmollified. "I have told him about it before. He made me drop a piece of bread and butter on the carpet only yesterday."

"I ate it afterwards," humbly suggested Ralph, still on his knees, "and there were hairs in it. There were, indeed, Aurelia."

"And now it is my tea-gown," continued Aurelia, giving way to the prettiest little outburst of temper imaginable. "I wish you would get up and go away, Ralph, and not come back. You are only making it worse by rubbing it in that silly way with your wet handkerchief."

"Here is another," said Charles, snatching up Lady Mary's delicate cambric one, which was lying on her work-table, while I was in the act of introducing Carr to her; and before that lady's politeness to Carr would allow her to turn from him to expostulate, Charles was on his knees beside Ralph, wiping the offending stain.

"'Out, d——d spot!' or rather series of spots. What, Aurelia! you don't wish it rubbed any more? Good! I will turn my attention to the Aubusson carpet. Ha! triumph! Here at least I am successful. Aunt Mary, you have no conception how useful your handkerchief is. The amount of tea or dirt, or both, which is leaving the carpet and taking refuge in your little square of cambric will surprise you when you see it. Ah!" rising from his knees as I brought up Carr, having by this time presented him to Sir George. "Very happy to see you, Mr. Carr. Most kind of you to come. Evelyn, are you pouring out some tea for Mr. Carr? Nature requires support before a last rehearsal. May I introduce you to my cousin Miss Derrick?"

After Carr had also been introduced to Aurelia, who, however, was still too much absorbed in her tea-gown to take much notice of him, he seemed glad to retreat to a chair by Evelyn, who gave him his tea, and talked pleasantly to him. He was very shy at first, but he soon got used to us, and many were the curious glances shot at him by the rest of the party as tea went on. There was to be a last rehearsal immediately afterwards, so that he might take part in it; and there was a general unacknowledged anxiety on the part of all the actors as to how he would bear that crucial test on which so much depended. I was becoming anxious myself, being in a manner responsible for him.

"You're not nervous, are you?" I said, taking him aside when tea was over. "Only act half as well as you did on the steamer and you will do capitally."

"Yes, I am nervous," he replied, with a short uneasy laugh. "It is enough to make a fellow nervous to be set down among a lot of people whom he has never seen before—to act a principal part, too. I had no idea it was going to be such a grand affair or I would not have come. I only did it to please you."

Of course I knew that, and I tried to reassure him, reminding him that the audience would not be critical, and how grateful every one was to him for coming.

"Tell me who some of the people are, will you?" he went on. "Who is that tall man with the fair mustache? He is looking at us now."

"That is Charles, the eldest son," I replied; "and the shorter one, with the pleasant face, near the window, is Ralph, his younger brother."

"That is a very good-looking girl he is talking to," he remarked. "I did not catch her name."

"Hush!" I said. "That is Miss Grant, whom he is engaged to. They have just had a little tiff, and are making it up. He does talk to her a good deal. I have noticed it myself. Such a sweet creature!"

"Is she going to act?"

"Yes," I replied. "They are going to begin at once. You need not dress. It is not a dress rehearsal."

"I think I will go and get my boots off, though," said Carr. "Can you show me where I am?"

"I am afraid you are not in the house at all," I said. "The fact is—did not Sir George tell you?" And then I explained.

For a moment his face fell, but it cleared instantly, though not before I had noticed it.

"You don't mind?" I said, astonished. "You quite understand—"

"Of course, of course!" he interrupted. "It is all right, I have a cold, that is all; and I have to sing next week. I shall do very well. Pray don't tell your friends I have a cold. I am sure Sir George is kindness itself, and it might make him uneasy to think I was not in his house."

The rehearsal now began, and in much trepidation I waited to see Carr come on. The moment he appeared all anxiety vanished; the other actors were reassured, and acted their best. A few passages had to be repeated, a few positions altered, but it was obvious that Carr could act, and act well; though, curiously enough, he looked less gentlemanlike and well-bred when acting with Charles than he had done when he was the best among a very mixed set on the steamer.

"You act beautifully, Mr. Carr!" said Aurelia, when it was over. "Doesn't he, Ralph?"

"Doesn't he?" replied Ralph, hot but good-humored. "I am sure, Carr, we are most grateful to you."

"So am I," said Charles. "Your death agonies, Carr, are a credit to human nature. No great vulgar writhings with legs all over the stage, like Denis; but a chaste, refined wriggle, and all was over. It is a pleasure to kill a man who dies in such a gentlemanlike manner. If only Evelyn will keep a little closer to me when I am on my wicked baronial knees, I shall be quite happy. You hear, Evelyn?"

"How you can joke at this moment," said Evelyn, who looked pale and nervous, "I cannot think. I don't believe I shall be able to remember a word when it comes to the point."

"Stage-fever coming on already," said Charles, in a different tone. "Ah! it is your first appearance, is it not? Go and rest now, and you will be all right when the time comes. I have a vision of a great success, and a call before the curtain, and bouquets, and other delights. Only go and rest now." And he went to light a candle for her. He seemed very thoughtful for Evelyn.

It was the signal for all of us to disperse, the ladies to their rooms, the men to the only retreat left to them, the smoking-room. As Aurelia went up-stairs I saw her beckon Ralph and whisper to him:

"Am I really to wear them?"

"Wear what, my angel? The jewels! Why, good gracious, I had quite forgotten them. Of course I want you to wear them."

"So do I, dreadfully," she replied, with a killing glance over the balusters. "Only if I am, you must bring them down in good time, and put them on in the greenroom. I hope you have got them somewhere safe."

"Safe as a church," replied Ralph, forgetting that in these days the simile was not a good one. "Father has them in his strong-box. I will ask him to get them out—at least all that could be worn—and I will give them a rub up before you wear them."

"Ah!" said Charles, sadly, as we walked up-stairs, "if only I had known Sir John!"