The tension was relaxed slightly after the Farleighs had left the room. At once Lady Selina instructed Goodrich, as magistrate, to take the necessary steps to deliver John Exton out of durance vile. As she was speaking, cheers were heard outside. Goodrich, peering out, announced that the villagers were leaving the lawn. He mentioned that dinner would be ready in a quarter of an hour, adding:

“May I prescribe a glass of champagne for your patient, Grimshaw?”

Lady Selina said wearily:

“You are very kind. I shall go to bed.”

“Please,” murmured Grimshaw.

The parson went out. Lady Selina lay back in her chair, closing her eyes. Cicely glanced anxiously at Grimshaw. Had the inevitable reaction set in? Grimshaw approached his patient, and laid his hand upon her wrist. She opened her eyes.

“I’m rather tired. That’s all.”

“No wonder.” He held her wrist for half a minute, saying reassuringly: “Your pulse is excellent. Some light food in bed and a night’s rest will quite restore you.”

She nodded. He was about to take leave of her when she said abruptly: “What did that poor boy mean by saying that he was born soft along of me?”

Grimshaw answered with slight constraint:

“As to that, I have the facts at second-hand. Some six months before he was born his mother had diphtheria. She was distracted about that time by the death of her two little girls from the same disease.”

“I see. Would that account for this boy being born wanting?”

“It might.”

Lady Selina refused to accept this as final. The constraint in Grimshaw’s voice had not escaped her.

“But in your opinion, with such facts as you have, it did, didn’t it?”

“Well, yes.”

“Good-night, Mr. Grimshaw; and very many thanks.”

He bowed and went out.