From the boudoir came the gentle murmur of a tender song, whispered by Louisa's appealing contralto voice. The sick man seemed to enjoy it: it seemed to soothe him too, for every now and again he lay quite still and listened attentively: and when he did so his eyes always sought the portrait of Luke.
When all was finished, and the last word written, Sir Thomas rose and grasped his old friend's emaciated hand.
"You'll feel better to-morrow," he whispered cheerily, "when you have your nephew with you. The doctor here must allow you to see him, if you see no one else."
"Lord Radclyffe must have rest now," said the doctor impatiently.
"Certainly, my dear sir," rejoined Sir Thomas. "I need not trouble you any more. I can but hope that your patient will be none the worse for the effort."
The doctor did not reply. The patient after the great effort was in a dangerous state of collapse and required every attention.
Sir Thomas Ryder took his leave and going through the smaller room, he beckoned to Louisa to follow him.
A moment later the doctor was heard ringing for the nurses. Sir Thomas in the hall was struggling with his coat, whilst Louisa stood by, quite still and patient. She knew that her hour would come, and she was grateful to her uncle for taking her away from here so quickly.
She had not asked a single question and Sir Thomas had not volunteered any information. But she was content to wait, until the time when he told her everything.
The cab which had been called all that long while ago was still waiting at the door. It was now past eleven o'clock. Silently Sir Thomas and Louisa Harris stepped into the cab, Mr. Warren, sympathetic and attentive to the last, giving the address to the chauffeur on their behalf.