Lady Cicely waited in the drawing-room some time, heart-sick and
trembling.

At last Dr. Philip came in, with her card in his hand, looking evidently
a little cross at the interruption. "Now, madam, please tell me, as
briefly as you can, what I can do for you."

"Are you Dr. Philip Staines?"

"I am, madam, at your service--for five minutes. Can't quit my patient
long, just now."

"Oh, sir, thank God I have found you. Be prepared for ill news--sad
news--a terrible calamity--I can't speak. Read that, sir." And she
handed him Tadcaster's note.

He took it, and read it.

He buried his face in his hands. "Christopher! my poor, poor boy!"
he groaned. But suddenly a terrible anxiety seized him. "Who knows of
this?" he asked.

"Only myself, sir. I came here to break it to her."

"You are a good, kind lady, for being so thoughtful. Madam, if this gets
to my niece's ears, it will kill her, as sure as we stand here."

"Then let us keep it from her. Command me, sir. I will do anything. I
will live here--take the letters in--the journals--anything."