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Rh belief she could hardly account for, that he was beginning to care for her—supposing he discovered she was an heiress. Far from seeking her then, he would flee from her. If he had not asked her when he believed her to be poor, he would scorn to do so when he knew her to be rich.

She was greatly exercised all that afternoon as to how she should next meet Melchior—how she should act towards him. The idea of trying to conciliate, or of temporizing with him, was hateful to her. Almost equally so that of appealing to his generosity. Yet, if she declined to have anything further to say to him, she felt sure that he would revenge himself by betraying her to Alaric Baring. It might even lead to an altercation between the two men. What was she to do?

Fate decided the question painfully; but, for the time, decisively. That same evening Hatty had a severe attack of hemorrhage. A doctor was called in, and Elizabeth passed the night by her friend's bedside. For days she lay there utterly prostrate; and all Elizabeth's meals were served to her in Hatty's room. Her brother was, of course, useless. He came in and out, looking sternly anxious, his hands rammed far down into his pockets, his eyes beneath corrugated brows questioning Elizabeth's, and few words passing between them. She was a famous nurse—no trained one could be better; inaccessible, apparently, to fatigue, full of resource, swift and noiseless in movement, and ever ready to bend down and answer her patient's little fluttering whisper with a hopeful smile. She took occasion to tell Alaric that if he could not look a little less gloomy, he had better keep away.