This fact comforted Tompson greatly, but Paul's father found in it no consolation.

The difficulty had been to prevent his mother from descending upon them. She must ever be kept in ignorance of this episode in her son's life. She belonged to the class of intellect which could never have understood. It would have been an undying shock and horrified grief to the end of her life--excellent, loving, conventional lady!

So after the first terrible danger was over, Sir Charles made light of their son's illness. Paul and he were enjoying Venice, he said, and would soon be home. "D--d hard luck the boy getting fever like this!" he wrote in his laconic style, "but one never could trust foreign countries' drains!"

And the Lady Henrietta waited in unsuspecting, well-bred patience.

Those were weary days for every one concerned. It wrung his father's heart to see Paul prostrate there, as weak as an infant. All his splendid youth and strength conquered by this raging blast. It was sad to have to listen to his ever-constant moan: "Darling, come back to me--darling, my Queen."

And even after he regained consciousness, it was equally pitiful to watch him lying nerveless and white, blue shadows on his once fresh skin. And most pitiful of all were his hands, now veined and transparent, falling idly upon the sheet.

But at least the father realised it could have been no ordinary woman whose going caused the shock which--even after a life of three weeks' continual emotion--could prostrate his young Hercules. She must have been worth something--this tiger Queen.