He distinctly made out Adeline's head and bust² above him. Her white apron³ was pressed against the bannisters, as with extended arms and hands grasping the stair-rail she leaned over to see who was below.

 

"It is, Miss Aked," he answered. "The door was open, and so I walked in. Is anything wrong?"

 

"I've just sent Lottie out for the doctor. Uncle is very ill. I wish you'd see that he comes at once. It's in the Fulham Road, a little to the left—you'll notice the red lamp."

 

As Richard ran out, he met the doctor, a youngish man with a Scots face and grey hair, hurrying down the street, the servant-girl breathless in the rear.

 

"Master was took ill last night, sir," the latter said, in answer to Richard's question. "Pneumonia⁴, the doctor says as it is, and something else, and there's coming a nurse to-night. Master has attacks of it, sir—he can't get his breath."

 

He stood in the passage, uncertain what to do; the doctor had already gone upstairs.

 

 

"It must be very serious," he murmured.

 

"Yes, sir." Lottie began to whimper. Richard said he would call again later to make inquiries⁵, and presently discovered himself in Fulham Road, walking slowly towards Putney.

 

Mr. Aked's case was hopeless; of that Richard felt sure. The man must be getting on in years, and his frame, not constitutionally vigorous, had doubtless been fatally weakened by long-continued carelessness. What a strange creature of whims⁶ and enthusiasms he was! Although there could be no question as to his age, Richard never regarded him as more than a few years older than himself. He had none of the melancholy⁷, the

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