"Ah! yes," he replied, slowly raising a hand to his brow. "Ah! yes--now I remember. That wagon--right across the road--and no light upon it!

Yes--I--I remember!"

"Don't bother. That's enough now. Just go to sleep again, my dear fellow," said Sir Evered, soothingly, placing his hand upon his patient's brow. "Don't try and think. Just rest for the present."

And thus advised, his lordship closed his eyes wearily, and was soon asleep.

"Excellent," declared Sir Evered, much gratified when outside the room with the others, leaving Jean alone with the sleeper. "He'll recover--no doubt he will."

And five minutes later he was in the library, speaking over the telephone to the Prime Minister at Downing Street, while that same evening the papers gave the welcome news to the world that there was every hope of the Foreign Minister's restoration to health.

The three medical men had strapped up the injured shoulder and applied various remedies, therefore the patient that night was in no pain, though Sister Gertrude took Jean's place at ten o'clock and sat by his bedside all night, receiving hourly visits from the doctors.

Bracondale Park was a house of breathless anxiety through the days which followed. Sir Evered, though his presence was required hourly in London--as is the presence of such a great surgeon--remained at the bedside of his friend. They had been at Cambridge together, and ever since their undergraduate days had been intimate chums.

His lordship's illness proved of longer duration than was at first antic.i.p.ated. Sir Evered remained at Bracondale a whole week, and then, finding that his patient was progressing favourably, returned to London, leaving the case in the hands of Dr. Wright-Gilson and Dr. Noel Tanner, while Sister Gertrude and Jean did the nursing.

Life at Bracondale Jean found extremely pleasant. The great house, with its luxuriously-furnished rooms, its fine picture-gallery, where, often, in her hours of recreation, she wandered; the big winter-garden with palms and exotic flowers, the conservatories, the huge ballroom--wherein long ago the minuet had been danced by high-born dames in wigs and patches--the fine suites of rooms with gilded cornices--all were, to her, full of interest.

The great house was built by the second Earl of Bracondale, who was the famous Chancellor of the Exchequer in the reign of Charles I., and ever since the Bracondales had borne their part in the government of England.

The room allotted to Jean was a visitor's room--a large, old-fashioned sitting-room, with a bed in one corner screened off; a room the long, leaded windows of which afforded beautiful views across the extensive, well-wooded park to the blue sea beyond. It was a place with a quiet, old-world atmosphere--a room that had never been changed for a century past. The old chintzes were of the days of our grandmothers, while the Chippendale chairs and tables would have fetched hundreds of pounds if put up at Christie's.

The elderly housekeeper, in her black silk cap, did all she could to make her comfortable, and treated her with the greatest consideration and respect--more so, perhaps, than she did Sister Gertrude, who, of course, wore the habit of the Order, while Jean still wore her French nurse's uniform.

Old Jenner, on the other hand, looked upon "them dressed-up Sisters o'

Mercy," as he termed them in the servants' hall, as interlopers, and was often sarcastic at their expense. As an old servant of the family, he felt jealous that they should wait upon his master while his presence was not permitted in the sick-room.

All his life he had been used to wait upon "his young lordship," and he was annoyed that he was not allowed to do so at that critical hour.

As soon as the injured man was sufficiently well to talk and to recognise that he was being tended by sisters from the neighbouring convent, he treated both with the greatest consideration. A car was placed at their disposal every afternoon so that they might take an airing, while the whole house was thrown open to them to wander where they liked.

The library, however, was Jean's favourite room. It was a big, sombre, restful place, with high windows of stained gla.s.s, a great carved overmantel, and electric lights set in the ancient oaken ceiling. Lined from ceiling to floor with books, and with several tables set about the rich Turkey carpet, it was a cosy, restful place, where one could lounge in a big arm-chair and dream.

Jean's duties in the sick-room were never irksome. The pair took it in turns to sit with the patient every other night, and it was only then that the hours in the green-shaded night-light seemed never ending. By day she found Bracondale always interesting and frequently amusing.

After he had been in bed a fortnight the doctors allowed him to see visitors, and several distinguished men called and were admitted by Jean. These included the Prime Minister, politicians, and magnates of commerce. And there were some mysterious visitors also, including a Mr.

Darnborough, who called one afternoon, being shown up by Jenner.

Jean, in surprise, found the butler and the visitor outside the door, whereupon Jenner explained:

"This is Mr. Darnborough, nurse, a very great friend of his lordship. He must see him alone, as they have confidential business to transact."

"Thank you, Jenner," replied Jean, rather stiffly. "If his lordship wishes to see Mr. Darnborough alone he will probably tell me so."

And, surveying the visitor with some suspicion, she ushered him to the sick man's side.

"Ah! my dear Darnborough!" cried his lordship, gaily, as soon as he recognised him. "I'm very glad to see you. I heard that you were in Cairo a week ago. Well, how are things in Egypt?"

"Just as full of trouble as ever," was the reply; "but----" and he glanced inquiringly at Jean.

"Oh, yes, I forgot," exclaimed the Earl. "Nurse Jean, might I ask the favour that you leave Mr. Darnborough to talk with me alone for half an hour? I shall be all right--and my medicine is not due until five o'clock."

Jean smiled at the pair.

"Certainly; I will come back when it is time for your lordship to have the next dose," she answered.

And with that she pa.s.sed noiselessly out of the room, the Earl's dark eyes following her.

The door having closed, the pair were left alone. Then the Earl lay listening attentively to the all-important secret report which Darnborough had travelled down there to make.

CHAPTER XVI.

JEAN HAS A SURPRISE.

Jean, thus dismissed, descended to the library, where, across the dark crimson carpet, the last rays of the gorgeous sunset slanted in through the high windows in which were set the armorial bearings of the dead-and-gone Bracondales in stained-gla.s.s escutcheons.

She crossed the great sombre apartment and stood gazing through the diamond panes away over the level green of the broad park to where the sea lay bathed in the golden light of the dying day.

Her eyes were fixed vacantly into s.p.a.ce. She was thinking--thinking again of that fateful paragraph in the paper--the unexpected news which had rendered her a widow. And poor Adolphe? Alas! though he had been her only friend and full of sympathy for her, yet he was now wearing out his days in penal servitude at the dreaded Devil's Island.

She thought of him often with feelings of pity. Though a criminal of a criminal stock, ill-bred, and with scarcely any education, yet he had behaved to her as few men had behaved. He had always held her in high esteem and respect. Even as she stood there she could hear his high-pitched voice addressing her as "Madame."

Upstairs, by the bedside of the sick Cabinet Minister, the thin, grey-faced man, "the eyes and ears of the Cabinet," was making a secret report to his lordship.

Though the Earl of Bracondale, K.G., was His Majesty's Princ.i.p.al Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, yet Darnborough, the ever-astute, sleepless man of secrets, was the keeper of Great Britain's prestige abroad. Though his name never appeared on the roll of Government servants, and did not draw any salary as an official, yet he was the only man in England who could demand audience of the Sovereign at any hour by day or by night, or who had the free _entree_ to the Royal residences and could attend any function uninvited.

As a statesman, as a secret agent, as an ingenious plotter in the interests of his country, he was a genius. He was a discovery of the late Lord Salisbury in the last days of the Victorian Era. At that time he had been a Foreign Office clerk, a keen-eyed young man with a lock of black hair hanging loosely across his brow. Lord Salisbury recognised in him a man of genius as a diplomat, and with his usual bluntness called him one day to Hatfield and gave him a very delicate mission abroad.

Darnborough went. He had audience with the Shah of Persia, juggled with that bediamonded potentate, and came back with his draft of a secret treaty directed against Russia's influence safely in his pocket. He had achieved what British Ministers to Teheran for the previous fifteen years had failed to effect. And from that moment Darnborough had been allowed a free hand in international politics.

Lord Rosebery, Lord Lansdowne, and Sir Edward Grey had adopted the same att.i.tude towards him as the great Lord Salisbury. He was the one man who knew the secret policy of Britain's enemies, the man who had so often attended meetings of the Cabinet and warned it of the pitfalls open for the destruction of British prestige.

At that moment the renowned chief of the Secret Service was explaining the latest conspiracy afoot against England, a serious conspiracy hatched in both Berlin and Vienna to embroil our nation in complications in the Far East. Darnborough's agents in both capitals had that morning arrived at Downing Street post-haste and reported upon what was in progress, with the result that their chief had come to place before the Foreign Minister the latest iniquity of diplomatic juggling.

His lordship lay in bed and listened to the man of secrets without uttering a word.

At length he turned his head restlessly on the pillow and, with a weary sigh, remarked:

"Ah! Darnborough, I fear that each day brings us nearer the peril, nearer the day of Germany's attack. The exposure of those confidential reports upon our naval manoeuvres was serious enough to our diplomacy. The policy of the Government is, alas! one of false a.s.surance in our defences. The country has been lulled to sleep far too long.

False a.s.surances of our national security have been given over and over again, and upon them the Cabinet have pursued a policy of bluff. But, alas! the days of Palmerston and Salisbury are past. Europe can gauge the extent and strength of our national defence, and, with the navigation of the air, we live no longer upon 'the tight little island'

of our revered ancestors."

"Yes," replied the man seated in the chair by the bedside, as he stretched his legs forward and folded his arms. "In all the capitals it is to-day the fashion to laugh at England's greatness, and to speak of us as a declining Power. I hear it everywhere. The Great Powers are in daily expectation of seeing the tail of the British lion badly twisted, and I quite agree that the most unfortunate leakage of a national secret was that report upon the last naval manoeuvres. The bubble of our defensive and offensive power has burst."

"And poor Richard Harborne lost his life," remarked the Earl.