another gentleman, whom she afterwards learnt to be a London
physician; and on the parson whispering a few words the Baron opened
his eyes. As soon as he saw her he smiled faintly, and held out his
hand.

Margery would have wept for him, if she had not been too overawed and
palpitating to do anything. She quite forgot what she had come for,
shook hands with him mechanically, and could hardly return an answer
to his weak 'Dear Margery, you see how I am--how are you?'

In preparing for marriage she had not calculated on such a scene as
this. Her affection for the Baron had too much of the vague in it to
afford her trustfulness now. She wished she had not come. On a sign
from the Baron the lawyer brought her a chair, and the oppressive
silence was broken by the Baron's words.

'I am pulled down to death's door, Margery,' he said; 'and I suppose
I soon shall pass through . . . My peace has been much disturbed in
this illness, for just before it attacked me I received--that present
you returned, from which, and in other ways, I learnt that you had
lost your chance of marriage . . . Now it was I who did the harm, and
you can imagine how the news has affected me. It has worried me all
the illness through, and I cannot dismiss my error from my mind . . .
I want to right the wrong I have done you before I die. Margery, you
have always obeyed me, and, strange as the request may be, will you
obey me now?'

She whispered 'Yes.'

'Well, then,' said the Baron, 'these three gentlemen are here for a