low voice. “What has happened to him? When did you hear of this?”

Mrs. Lauderdale had not expected him to show so much feeling. She, herself, was far from calm, however, and did not notice his extreme agitation as though it were anything unnatural.

“Doctor Routh came to tell me,” she answered. “He’s been there all the morning—and as there was time before luncheon, I thought I’d come—”

“But what’s the matter with the old gentleman? This is very surprising news—very sad news, Emma.”

A rather spasmodic, electric smile had momentarily appeared on Alexander Lauderdale’s face, disappearing again instantly, as he uttered the last words.

“I’m very much overcome by this news,” he added, after a short hesitation.

He did not appear to be so deeply grieved as he said that he was, but the words were appropriate, and Mrs. Lauderdale recognized the fact at once.

“It will make a great difference,” she said.

“Yes, I should say so. I should say so,” repeated Alexander Junior, not with emphasis, but slowly and thoughtfully. “However,” he continued, suddenly, “we mustn’t count—I mean—yes—we—we mustn’t altogether place our confidence in man—though Doctor Routh certainly stands at the head of his profession. It’s our duty to see that other physicians are called in consultation. We must do our utmost to help. Indeed—it might have been wiser if you had gone there at once and had sent a messenger for me, instead of coming here. But—yes—you haven’t told me what the matter is, my dear. Is it—anything in the nature of apoplexy—or the heart—you know? At his age, people rarely—but, of course, while there’s life, there’s hope. We mustn’t forget that.”

He seemed unable to wait for his wife’s answer to his questions.

“Why, no, my dear,” she replied. “You know he’s not been very well for some days. He’s worse—that’s all. It was nothing but a cold at first, but it’s turned into pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia? Dear me! At his age, people rarely live through it—however, he’s very strong, of course. Difference!” he exclaimed, softly. “Yes—a great difference. It—it will make a great gap in the family, Emma. We’re all so fond of him, and I’m deeply attached to him, for my part. As for my poor father, he will be quite overcome. I hope he has not been told yet.”

“No—I thought I’d wait and see you first.”

“Quite right, my dear—quite right—very wise. In the meantime, I think we should be going. Yes—it’s just as well that you didn’t take off your hat.”

He rose as he spoke, and touched one of the row of electric buttons on his desk. A man in the livery of the Company appeared at the door, just as Alexander was taking up his overcoat.

“I’m going up town a little earlier than usual, Donald,” he said. “Inform Mr. Arbuckle. If anything unusual should occur, send to Mr. Harrison Beman.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s all, Donald.”

The man faced about and left the office, having stood still for several seconds, staring at Alexander. Donald had been twenty years in the Company’s service, and did not remember that Mr. Lauderdale had ever left the office before hours in all the ten years since he had been chief, nor in the preceding ten during which he had occupied more or less subordinate positions.

Mrs. Lauderdale daintily pulled down her veil and pulled up her gloves, shook out her frock a little and looked at the points of her shoes, then straightened her tall figure and stood ready. Alexander had slipped on his coat, and was smoothing his hat with a silk handkerchief which he always carried about him for that purpose. He had discovered that it made the hat last longer. Both he and his wife had unconsciously assumed that indescribable air which people put on when they are about to go to church.

“We’ll take the Third Avenue Elevated,” said Mr. Lauderdale. “It’s shorter for us.”

Robert Lauderdale’s house was close to the Park. The pair went out together into Broad Street, and the people stared at them as they threaded their way through the crowd. They were a handsome and striking couple, well contrasted, the dark man, just turning grey, and the fair woman, still as fair as ever. It might even be said that there was something imposing in their appearance. They had that look of unaffectedly conscious superiority which those who most dislike it most strenuously endeavour to imitate. Moreover, when a lady, of even passably good looks, appears down town between eleven and twelve o’clock in the morning, she is certain to be stared at. Very soon, however, the Lauderdales had left the busiest part of the multitude behind them. They walked quickly, with a preoccupied manner, exchanging a few words from time to time. Lauderdale was gradually recovering from his first surprise.

“Did Routh say that there was no hope?” he asked, as they paused at a crossing.

“No,” answered Mrs. Lauderdale. “He didn’t say that. He said that uncle Robert’s condition caused him grave anxiety. Those were his very words. You know how he speaks when a thing is serious. He said he thought that we all ought to know it.”

“Of course—of course. Very proper. We should be the first, I’m sure.”

It would not be fair, perhaps, to say that Alexander’s voice expressed disappointment. But he spoke very coldly and his lips closed mechanically, like a trap, after his words. They went on a little further. Then Mrs. Lauderdale spoke, with some hesitation.

“Alexander—I suppose you don’t know exactly—do you?” She turned and looked at his face as she walked.

“About what?” he asked, glancing at her and then looking on before him again.

“Well—you know—about the will—”

“My dear, what a very foolish question!” answered Alexander, with some emphasis. “We have often talked about it. How in the world should I know any better than any one else? Uncle Robert is a secretive man. He never told me anything.”

“Because there are the Ralstons, you know,” pursued Mrs. Lauderdale. “After all, they’re just as near as you are, in the way of relationship.”

“My father is the elder—older than uncle Robert,” said Alexander. “Katharine Ralston’s father was the youngest of the three.”

“Does that make a difference?” asked Mrs. Lauderdale.

“It ought to!” Alexander answered, energetically.

CHAPTER II.

“I’M not dying, I tell you! Don’t bother me, Routh!”

Robert Lauderdale turned impatiently on his side as he spoke, and pointed to a chair with one of his big, old hands. Doctor Routh, an immensely tall, elderly man, with a long grey beard and violet blue eyes, laughed a little under his breath, and sat down.

“I’m not at all sure that you are going to die,” he said, pleasantly.

“That’s a comfort, at all events,” answered the sick man, in a husky voice, but quite distinctly. “What the deuce made you say I was going to die, if I wasn’t?”

“Some people are stronger than others,” answered the doctor.

“I used to be, when I was a boy.”

“It won’t do you any good to talk. If you can’t keep quiet, I shall have to go away.”

“All right. I say—mayn’t I smoke?”

“No. Positively not.”

Doctor Routh smiled again; for he considered it a hopeful sign that the old man should have a distinct taste for anything, considering how ill he had been. A long silence followed, during which the two looked at one another occasionally. Lauderdale was twenty years older than the doctor, who was the friend, as well as the physician, of all the Lauderdale tribe—with one or two