his lips to utter the story his eyes were telling, What he endured
in that week of fever, under the strain of love's nursing, only he
could have told--and he told nothing. How she hungered for the
luxury of one word, only she knew--and confessed unconsciously.

Had the doctor told her that he was critically ill, she would have
cast all restraint aside and wrung from him the words he was holding
back. But the unromantic little doctor calmly broke the fever,
subdued the congestion, relieved the cough and told them that the
"young man would be quite well in a few days if he took good care of
himself."

The days of convalescence were few, for the vigorous strength of the
patient had not been sapped to any great extent. They were days of
happiness, however, for all who lived in Castle Craneycrow. Dickey
and Lady Jane solemnly and somewhat defiantly approached Lord Bob on
a very important matter. He solemnly and discreetly gave his
consent, and Dickey promised to be very, very good to her so long as
he lived. One day a real priest, Father Bivot, came to the castle
gates to solicit alms for the poor of the neighborhood. He was
admitted, refreshed and made glad by a single donation that
surpassed in size the combined contributions of a whole valley. It
was from him that they learned, with no little uneasiness of mind,
that the body of Courant had been found, and that it had been
identified by the Luxemburg authorities. The cause of his death was
a mystery that defied solution, however.

The news that Courant had been found and identified made Quentin all
the more eager to carry out his design to restore Dorothy to her
mother. He knew, and all knew, that it was but a question of a few