Zenia stood up from the floor and bent to give Elizabeth a hug. She ignored it except for a happy trill, never taking her eyes or stubborn fingers from her task.

In the study, Mr. Jocelyn was standing beside the fire, warming his hands. Still, his fingers were rather cold as he took hers and seated her in a chair before him.

"My dear, I have something to propose which will undoubtedly startle you. Let me say directly that you must not feel under any compulsion whatsoever-it is merely a suggestion, and if you do not like it, then there is no more to be said. You have said that you dislike the idea of a marriage-indeed, you expressed some distaste for men in general, although I know you only meant it lightly. But let me just put before you a plan to consider--merely to consider."

Zenia looked up at him in puzzlement. He seemed rather agitated, almost embarrassed. "I'm sure whatever it is, it is an excellent plan if you thought of it, Mr. Jocelyn."

He smiled suddenly, in a more natural way. "Well, it is not very professional, and I should not be in a position even to suggest it if I had taken any formal action in the case-but as yet I feel myself within the limits of honest truth to say that I am a family friend, and no more. My dear, would it distress you very much to contemplate a marriage to me?"

Zenia had been looking straight into his kind brown eyes. Hers widened; she looked away. "I-I had not thought-"

"Calmly, my dear. Calmly. Let me outline it a little more thoroughly. As it happens, I have been for some time pondering a marriage for myself. For professional reasons, and to add some comfort to my life-and for companionship, of course. But you see, I am not a very passionate man, nor at all in the way of making love to ladies, and so I have made small progress. Not to put too fine a point on it, out of pure indolence I fear I have made no headway at all. I had in mind that perhaps a widowed lady would be suitable- ah, I do not wish to offend you by my speech, but I do wish to be precise-I am not particularly desirous of physical intimacy with a wife." His cheeks reddened a little. "Children I greatly enjoy, but I am a second son, and have no need to be concerned with all the usual bustle about extending the line and so forth." He cleared his throat. "As I say, I am not of an ardent nature."

He was still smiling, but he looked ill at ease now, rocking gently from one foot to the other. He looked as if he wished that he could have the words back.

"I understand," Zenia said, earnestly desiring to make him comfortable again. "Oh, yes. I have lived in the East, Mr. Jocelyn, where it is perfectly comformable to prefer a boy, you may be sure. But I understand that it is not openly done here."

His face flamed. He turned quickly away. "My dear! I said no such thing. I greatly desire that you will not put such a construction upon my words, nor mention such a thing again!"

Zenia looked at his stiff back, the high color in his cheeks and the rapid way that he blinked at the window. A strange tenderness for him stole over her. How lonely he must be! "Of course not," she said. "Please-I should never wish to distress my friend."

He took a deep breath, fumbling at his pocket kerchief and using it lightly. After a moment, he looked up at her with a diffident smile. "Yes, I think we could be friends, at any rate. It has been my pleasure to become acquainted with you and your daughter. If I could give you both a comfortable home and a little good company now and then, in return for the same, I should think myself honored. But this is not a fence that you should rush, my dear. While I am in Edinburgh, you must take the time to think it over. You will wish to write to your father, perhaps. I will send something to their Mr. King, a little hint, to reckon how they would take it, but no decision need be made until you have had ample time to consider. Ample time!"

Mr. Jocelyn had not been gone two hours when Zenia was called down to receive Lord Belmaine.

She saw him in her father's study, desiring to have at her back all the solidity and dignified weight that his law books could provide. "I can tell you nothing yet," she said as she closed the door, not even risking him to say the first word.

He made a short bow. "Good morning, ma'am. I have not come to press you on anything. I simply wish to inquire into Miss Elizabeth's health, and ask if you know my son's whereabouts."

"Elizabeth has had the measles," Zenia said briskly, relieved and disappointed at once, anxious to show neither.

He frowned. "We feared that! How does she do?"

"It was but a mild attack, with little fever. The doctor says she is safely through it.Though I am going to keep her in a dimmed room for yet awhile.""That is good news." His frown turned to a smile. He nodded. "The measles are no trifling matter, as some think. Lady Belmaine mentioned that there was an outbreak inour village, and we have been much concerned. How comforting to know that allwent well! Would you like Dr. Wells to see her, just to be sure? He is our physicianin town, and there is no one of a higher reputation."

"I don't think it necessary, thank you. She is doing excellently well."

He stood looking at her a moment, but she did not invite him to sit down. "I wouldbe honored to pay my respects to your father, if he is at home.""They have gone to Zurich."The earl looked surprised. "So you are here alone?""Mr. Jocelyn, my father's particular friend, has been looking after us. He only lives a few doors down, and I may call on him for anything.""I see," he said."He is an advocate in Doctors' Commons," she said.Lord Belmaine's expression of fixed pleasantry vanished. "Indeed," he said."He has been very kind.""Well," the earl said, turning his hat over in his hands. "You must call upon me if I can be of any service. You have only to send to Berkeley Square.""Thank you," Zenia said, without warmth."I will not keep you, ma'am." Lord Belmaine made another small bow, matching her in coolness. "I presume you have not seen Lord Winter?"

"I have not seen him since before Elizabeth's illness," she said stiffly. "Perhaps youmay discover him at his club, or the Clarendon Hotel.""Thank you. I must not linger. Good day to you, ma'am."* * * * *She hardly knew what to make of Lord Belmaine's call. When she had heard who it was, she had been certain that he would begin a full assault on her to sign whateverpapers they wished, but she was determined to do nothing while Mr. Jocelyn wasgone. She was really angry that he had come on such flimsy pretenses-he had noteven asked to see Elizabeth, and he must know perfectly well where his son was. Hemeant only to upset her, she thought, to put her off her balance, and when a boyarrived just after her noon meal with a note written on the letterhead of theClarendon, she felt certain of it.

She stood in the hallway, breaking the seal with hands that were not quite steady.It was not Lord Winter's handwriting, but his father's.

Please come instantly. Belmaine.

The boy had a cab waiting, and the porter at the Clarendon led her directly up to Lord Winter's suite. She knew by then that he was very ill, but still she was shocked by the look on his father's face when he met her at the door.

"Have you had the measles?" he demanded, before he said anything else.

"Yes," she said, "when I was ten."

He held open the door, and Zenia turned her head as she entered, hearing Lord Winter's voice raised. For an instant she thought he was shouting at a servant, but she realized that the words were a violent string of Arabic curses, falling away to muttering as she hurried into the bedroom.

"Dr. Wells, ma'am," said a gray-haired man with a cruelly hooked nose, his aspect of ferocity intensified by the heavy frown on his face as he tried to hold Lord Winter still with an arm across his chest. "Open that lamp and bring it here," He nodded toward the commode, where there was a strange small light with a tiny door. "My lord, if you will endeavor to hold him down on the other side. I shall have to tie him in a moment if we cannot do better than this."

Lord Winter's labored breathing seemed to fill the room; he tried to turn from side to side, straining against his father's hands. Beneath a growth of beard his face was gaunt and flushed, and low on his throat and his arms she could see the spots, much fewer and darker than Elizabeth had had, but some already turning to white dust.

"Hold the light up close to his face, please ma'am," Dr. Wells said. "Very close- shine it directly into his eyes."

Zenia lifted the lamp. Lord Winter recoiled from the light, pulling back with a sound of anguish. When the doctor took his face between his hands and attempted to turn his head, Lord Winter tried to pull away from that too, nearly dragging Dr. Wells over top of him.

"A strong fellow," the doctor murmured, sitting back, his large hands still pushing down on Lord Winter's shoulder to curb his restless turning from side to side. "Let us hope very strong. The morbid principle has entered the brain. This is a more common sequel of the mumps than the measles, but his violent aversion to light, the stiffness in the neck, the maid's story of nausea and vomiting, the disorientation- together these suggest an inflammation of the tissues of the brain. Our task will be to prevent him lapsing into coma, and relieve the oppression of the lungs as best we may."

Lord Winter was still a moment, his eyes half-closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He spoke clearly, a long sentence, broken only by frequent deep gasps for air.

Dr. Wells frowned. "I am not pleased by this incomprehensible babbling. If it were accompanied by any limb weakness, I should not hope to see the day out."

"It is Arabic," Zenia said. "It is not-entirely incoherent."

"Is it?" The doctor's fierce face took on something near brightness. "That relieves my mind, ma'am, that greatly relieves my mind. As there is clearly no one-sided weakness in the limbs, I think we may put the fear of a rapidly fatal encephalitis from our minds, for the moment at least."

He bent his head, arranging his stethoscope, and then with practiced moves pulled Lord Winter's shirt up to uncover his chest. "Good God," he said, "here is an ugly wound! How old is this?"

"Almost two years," Zenia said. "It was a bullet he received in the desert."

"These are burn marks," the doctor protested.

"That is what is done for such things, among the Bedu," she said.

Dr. Wells shook his head. "Barbarians," he muttered, and leaned over, listening with his instrument to Lord Winter's lungs.

As the doctor tied him down and bled him, Lord Winter continued to speak hoarsely through his difficult breathing. Zenia sat beside him, stroking his forearm over and over below the tight knot of the binding, while his father sat on the other side, his fingers intertwined with his son's, gripping hard.

She did not tell them what Lord Winter was saying; how he spoke to her over and over, never by her name, but calling her wolf cub and little wolf and Selim, telling her that he would bring her home, that she must keep walking, that he would carry her if she could not, but they must go on.

"He is asking for water," she said to the doctor, when he had said fretfully for the fourth time that the bags were empty.

"He refuses to take it," the earl said unhappily. "I've tried to make him drink."

Zenia filled a teacup from the pitcher on the dressing table. She leaned over him, stroking the damp hair back from his hot forehead. "El-Muhafeh," she whispered, "this is your portion."

His restless motion lapsed a little. His lashes lifted. Without turning his head, he looked slowly toward her. "Now?" he asked, the question turning to a cough. His eyes that were such a deep blue seemed cloudy and dim.

"Drink it now," she said, still in Arabic. "I know how much you need."

"So hot," he said in English, closing his eyes again. He drank eagerly when she lifted the cup, and then said, "Where's Beth?"

"Asleep," she said.

"I'll bring her home," he said, jerking his arms against the bonds.

The doctor finished binding a pad over his patient's arm and said, "Come, if I may see both of you for a moment in the other room while he is constrained."

"El-Muhafeh, I will be very close," she whispered, touching his forehead. "Only call if you want me."

He heard her, she thought, for he opened his eyes, but then he closed them again and tossed his head, every breath a deep struggle.

In the parlor, Dr. Wells was writing instructions. "I will leave you with some tonic, and have the pills compounded and sent over within the hour. Lady Winter, do you have any sickroom experience?"

"Yes," she said. "I nursed my mother for many-years."

"Excellent. A hot bran poultice would be highly beneficial, as often as you like to apply it to the chest. There is a little maid here who was most helpful in describing to me the course of his illness-I believe she had been watching out after him, according to her own lights, and will be eager to assist you in obtaining what you need. Any food of a nutritious and stimulating character that you can get down him, and as much water or wine. Keep some beef tea to hand at all times."

He went on with his instructions, writing them down. When he finished, the earl said in a hard flat voice, "Is it at all possible-that he may not survive?"

"My lord, I have hope that he can. I think he will, but I shan't pretend to you. He is gravely ill. An adult's course in these diseases that are more commonly contracted in childhood is fraught with peril. There is already a serious complication with the brain fever. If another develops in the next twenty-four hours, pneumonia or pleurisy or a worsening of the encephalitis, the outlook will be very poor. That is what we must avoid if we can." He began to pack his medical bag. "I don't scruple to say that it would have been far wiser of him to have got the measles when he was still in short coats."

The earl's face was pale and set. He nodded. When the doctor rose and took his leave, Lord Belmaine hardly seemed to see the hand that he held out, and shook it with a vague nod and murmur.

"Ma'am." Dr. Wells turned to her, as if he recognized that the earl's mind was not focused. "I will return this evening. Here is my card; you are to send directly if there is any change, in particular with regard to the lungs."

Zenia dispatched word to Bentinck Street that she would not be home that night, with instructions about Elizabeth's bath and what she was to wear in the morning, and a request for her own necessities. But it was a short note; she was fully occupied with sickroom tasks, and with answering Lord Winter's turbulent and rambling discourse. Sometimes he thought they were in the desert, and sometimes he seemed to be lost in some unknown place, looking for something, for her or for Elizabeth or a string of pearls. She spoke back to him in Arabic or English, and pulled the sheets into place as he constantly tore them loose with his ceaseless motion.

"I believe he is calmer since you came," the earl said, standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

She held the hot poultice to Lord Winter's chest, her hands rising and falling with each hard breath he took. He tried to pull it off, his fingers dragging at the muslin.

"Hot," he muttered, "ft is so hot."

"I know," she said. "But we are almost there."

"Ghota?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I can see it," he said, lunging in the bed. "Christ! Get my rifle!"

The earl stepped quickly to the bedside, pulling his son back onto the pillows. "You don't need your rifle here, old fellow," he said firmly.

Lord Winter began to cough, his chest heaving under her hands. He turned his head toward the earl, his eyes focusing a little. "Father," he said hoarsely. Then a faint smile lifted his mouth. "I didn't think you would come."

The earl scowled ferociously. "Of course I came."

Lord Winter turned his head away, as he had when the light was too bright, his smile vanishing. "Here's my tunnel," he said sharply.

"Yes," his father said at random.

There was a long silence. Zenia watched Lord Winter's eyes drift and listened to his rasping breath.

"Do you want to come in?" he asked in a small whisper, hesitant as a child's.

The earl folded his son's hand within his own. "There is nothing I want more," he said, his voice cracking.

Lord Winter moved his lips, but an uneven series of deep pants overtook him. He began to toss his head again, breathing heavily. Zenia took up the cooling poultice and carried it into the parlor. It did not seem to have had much effect. As the night came on, she expected the oppression of his lungs would grow greater-it had always been that way with her mother. She tried not to think of that horrible time when both Lady Hester and Miss Williams had taken the fever, when Zenia was only twelve, and all the servants had stolen what they could and run away but for one girl of Zenia's age. From her bed, her mother had insisted that one of her black draughts be prepared for Miss Williams, but Zenia was sure now that the little servant girl had got the proportions wrong. It was after the draught that Miss Williams had felt such pain in her stomach that she had cried and writhed, and finally fallen into a deathly stupor that lasted three days before she died. When Lady Hester had heard Miss Williams was gone, her screams had echoed from the walls, as terrible as a wild animal or a devil shrieking in Hell.

It was after Miss Williams died that Zenia had been sent to the desert. She stood in the parlor, staring blindly at a small table beside the door, until she wrenched her mind away from old terrors and noticed the corner of a paper that had fallen beneath the table. She bent and picked it up-and found her own note, written to him days ago, with the seal still unbroken.

Zenia held the note. It might have been delivered under the door, and kicked aside unnoticed. Perhaps he had not simply refused to come or answer. He had been ill for some time, though the maid had told Dr. Wells he had not lost his reason until just today, after she had believed him on the mend.

Zenia thought of the legal papers that had been delivered to her. They must have been sent before he grew so sick-they would have taken some time to compose. But she could not concentrate her mind on them. It did not seem important; nothing seemed important but the arduous sound of his breathing, and trying to make him drink, and take the tonic and the pills, and keep the temperature in the room steady as the night came on and he seemed to lose even the strength to speak or toss, but lay still, his forehead dry and burning, each breath a heavy gasp. Dr. Wells had taken a room at the hotel, warning them to expect a crisis, and leaving instructions to call him when it came.

Lord Belmaine stayed in a chair beside the bed. He seemed to think Zenia knew much more than she did-he asked her more than once if she thought he was getting worse, and if they should call Dr. Wells.

"I believe he is asleep," she said.

"Oh, asleep," his father said in relief.

He sat looking at his son. In the dim light of a shielded lamp, his eyes had a glitter.

"I have never seen him ill," he muttered. "Never once!"

Zenia heard the panic underlying his voice. She said with forced calm, "He must have been very, very strong to survive the wound he had in the desert. He will be stronger now, having had a month of excellent food and rest in England."

"Yes, that's true." Lord Belmaine said, in his simple longing to be reassured. After a long silence, he said, "Miss Elizabeth suffered like this?"

"Oh, no," Zenia said. "No."

"I'm glad." The earl cleared his throat. "It is much easier in children, I take it."

"Yes, that is what Elizabeth's doctor said too."

Lord Belmaine stared at his son. He stood up suddenly and took a few steps, then stopped and turned. "It is my fault."

Zenia looked up at him. He was standing in the center of the room, with a fixed look of anguish. "It is my fault," he said. "I made sure that he would never get sick; I dreaded that he would get sick. Measles, God forgive me."

She shook her head in automatic denial, but he rushed ahead.