'I trust he will come here before you leave us,' added the earl.

Rosamund took her hand. 'My lord has been more acute than I, or else
your friend is less guarded than you.'

'What have you seen?' said the blushing lady.

'Stay. I have an idea you are one of the women I promised to Cecil
Baskelett,' said the earl. 'Now may I tell him there's no chance?'

'Oh! do.'

They spent so very pleasant an evening that the earl settled down into a
comfortable expectation of the renewal of his old habits in the September
and October season. Nevil's frightful cry played on his ear-drum at
whiles, but not too affectingly. He conducted Rosamund to her room,
kissed her, hoped she would sleep well, and retired to his good hard
bachelor's bed, where he confidently supposed he would sleep. The sleep
of a dyspeptic, with a wilder than the monstrous Bevisham dream, befell
him, causing him to rise at three in the morning and proceed to his
lady's chamber, to assure himself that at least she slept well. She was
awake.

'I thought you might come,' she said.

He reproached her gently for indulging foolish nervous fears.

She replied, 'No, I do not; I am easier about Nevil. I begin to think he
will live. I have something at my heart that prevents me from sleeping.
It concerns me. Whether he is to live or die, I should like him to know