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Baines stood in an uncertain sort of attitude near the door, fingering his hat, and waiting, after the first good-evening had passed between us, for me to speak. I motioned him to sit down, and as he deposited himself gingerly on the edge of a chair I rose, and straddling across the hearthrug, began my interrogation.

“Well, Baines,” said I, “it has been a sad time for you. Can you give us any details of your master’s illness?”

“It was very short and sudden, my lord,” said Baines, with a terseness for which I blessed him. “It came on at ’Uanac, where we were camped; ’is lordship went about much as usual for the first day; the second he was very bad, and we sent on down to Greytown for a doctor, but by the next day ’is lordship was delirious, and died the day after. The doctor came too late. I nursed him all the time, my lord,” and Baines’s eyes shone mistily for a moment in the candle-light, “and I think all was done that could be done, but there was no help for it. They tell me these malarial fevers always are like that, but ’is lordship was never what I should call robust, my lord.”