For the next week or so, Herrick had his hands full. Mrs. Marsh grew rapidly worse, and several times nearly slipped through his fingers. But the doctor's skill, Petronella's nursing, and above all the indomitable determination of Mrs. Marsh not to die, enabled her to turn the corner. She became much better, but still suffered from racking pains. At times Herrick gave her morphia, but did so sparingly. From Petronella he learned that she had taken chloral for years past, and feared that if she gained a taste for morphia she might take to it instead of the weaker drug. For Stephen's sake, Jim could not let that happen.

Never had Herrick had so unruly a patient. He did not wonder that she had quarrelled with all the Beorminster doctors. The wonder was that she had a friend left. Her temper was ungovernable, and she fought Herrick on every point that did not chime in with her inclinations. In spite of the fact that he was attending her out of sheer kindness, and had intimated to Stephen that he expected no fee, Mrs. Marsh abused him virulently whenever she felt so inclined. But then she abused everyone, even Petronella, who was her slave. As to Stephen, devoted as he was to her, she could not find words bad enough for him sometimes. He was a fool, a ninny, a milksop, he lived upon her charity, etc., etc. Yet there were times when the young man was all that was good in her eyes. Even Herrick came in for his share of praise at odd moments.

"Gran' Dio!" Petronella would say to Herrick after some tussel, "was there ever such a diavola as the Padrona?"

"The old Italian woman had taken a great fancy to Dr. Jim. He was good to her mistress whom she idolized, he was kind to Petronella herself, and could speak her language. He had once made a tour of Europe for three years with a young dipsomaniac and had contrived to pick up three or four tongues, which he spoke remarkably correctly. Spanish, French, German, Italian, Dr. Jim knew them all and could both read and write them with wonderful accuracy. In the eyes of Petronella he was a marvellous man, and she often talked to him on subjects which she would not discuss with anyone else.

"Do not be angry with the padrona Signor Dottore," she said sometimes, "it is the blood of the Michelotto family. Eh, the Michelotti were wicked!"

"Like Colonel Carr? Eh, Petronella?"

"Signor Dottore, the Colonel was an angel of light to the wicked Michelotti. The padrona is the last of them, and it is not wonder she is angry. Per Bacco," added Petronella who could swear on occasions, "see this casa--a fitting casa for the last of the grand signori."

"But it is all right now Petronella. As soon as your signora can be removed we shall take her to The Pines.

"That is a fine casa if you like!" Petronella spat, and shook her white elf-locks. "It will bring no luck. Eh Signor, but that man had the evil eye. Once I went with the padrona to see him. He overlooked me although I made horns, and I hurt my foot. If my padrona goes to that casa she will die."

Herrick shrugged his shoulders, and did not argue. There was no means of persuading Petronella out of the spite she had taken to The Pines. It was now the property of Stephen Marsh. The senior partner of Frith and Frith had come down personally with the will. This left Stephen the house, on condition that he pulled down the tower. Furthermore the personal property of the late Colonel, amounting to eight thousand a year well invested, was given to the young man on a still more curious condition.

"You are to have a special vault constructed in Saxham churchyard," said Mr. Frith, "it is to be built of stone and lined with sheet iron. The body of our late client is to be put in there, and you alone are to hold the key of the door. Once a month you are to enter the vault and see that the body is safe. If you do this for a year then the property becomes yours absolutely. If you miss going once, the money goes to--Frisco."

"To Frisco--the Colonel's servant!" said Stephen in surprise, "and by that name Mr. Frith?"

"Yes! It is legal enough. But the man evidently murdered his master, and has gone away to avoid consequences, I do not think you will be troubled by him. Also Mr. Marsh--or rather Mr. Carr since you have to take the name--you can avert all chance of this man getting the money by visiting the vault monthly for a year."

Here was another mystery. Why the money should have been left to Frisco no one could guess. Stephen often talked it over with Herrick, but could come to no conclusion. However he set to work to carry out the terms of the will. A body of workmen were employed to take down the tower; and Mr. Corn was seen about the construction of a new vault. Evidently the Colonel did not consider that his remains would be safe in the ancestral burial-place. In spite of all secrecy, the countryside came to know of this strange provision of Carr's will, and it was said that he wanted to make sure that his body would not be carried off by the devil to whom he had sold himself. In fact the general opinion was, that some night the remains would be carried off like those of the old woman of Berkley. The villagers grew confused over the matter, and did not distinguish between the body and soul.

While Mrs. Marsh was slowly getting better, and Stephen was attending to the carrying-out of the will, Dr. Jim remained at Saxham, or rather for the sake of his patient he lived at Beorminster, paying occasional visits to the village. Robin had long since returned to London, and had left in much anger at Jim's refusal to accompany him.

"You have found a new friend," he said angrily, "and I must go to the wall. I do call it unfair Jim."

"My dear Robin, I cannot be your shadow. You are quite well able to look after yourself now. I took you for this walking tour, to do you good. Now you are in excellent health. I must remain here until Mrs. Marsh is quite well. Remember if I go she has no doctor to attend her."

"I can't do without you," persisted Robin. "You have such an influence over me that I am lost if you are away."

"You must take up your life on your own shoulders," replied Herrick impatiently; "it is no use relying on other people. But if you feel that I am so indispensable to you, why not stay here? You have money, no ties, and can do your work here better than in London."

"I want to go back to town. If I stay here I shall not see much of you. Marsh is your friend now."

"I like Marsh. He is a good fellow, and I can make something of him. I suppose Robin you think I am after his money; but you know me better than that. The three hundred a year I have is enough for me. I was never a man for luxury."

"I never thought or hinted such a thing," said Joyce with a blush. "Well, if you like to stay here Jim, I'll return to London, and we can meet when you return. I suppose you'll be back some time,--that is if Miss Endicotte will let you go."

"Nonsense," replied Dr. Jim, "she has no thought of me. I like her very much but in my present state of poverty I could not ask her to be my wife."

Joyce said nothing more, but the next week took his leave. He was much missed in Saxham where his bright talk and merry face had made him a general favourite. The Biff's especially were sorry. Bess had foregathered with Joyce on the common ground of literature, and she lamented when he departed.

"Why can't you stay here?" she said in her blunt way, "you can work better in the country."

"No, Miss Bess. I am like Charles Lamb; London is my home. I cannot get enough of the divine fire in this tame locality."

"There is nothing tame about it," cried Bess fired with indignation.

Joyce laughed. "Not to you perhaps; but I prefer London myself. However, I hope you will let me come down and see you at times. And we can correspond. And if you have any manuscripts you think well of, send them to me. I will see what I can do with them."

This arrangement was made, and Robin, taking a friendly leave of Jim went back to his West Kensington fiat. He wrote frequently at first, but after a time his letters became rarer. Herrick was sorry, but on the whole somewhat relieved to be rid of such a burden. For Robin was one of those people who are delightful to meet and terrible to live with. Had he been ill or in trouble the conscientious Jim would have stayed with him. But since he had been particularly well after that attack of nerves when the body was discovered, there was no necessity for Herrick to martyrise himself further.

And besides Jim had fallen seriously in love with Ida Endicotte. When Mrs. Marsh was fairly on the road to recovery, Stephen had taken Jim over to Saxham and introduced him to the Biffs. They lived in a tumbledown house of considerable size, down a deep and leafy lane. At one time the Endicottes had been great folks, but the late Mr. Endicotte who had married the daughter of an Earl, had squandered the revenues of the family. His wife Lady Arabella had died of sheer worry, and Mr. Endicotte had found himself alone with five children and an impoverished estate.

For a time he did his best to keep things together, but ultimately died--as it was said--of a broken heart. It seemed probable that the five children would go on the parish. "What a fall for the haughty Endicotte."

It was at this juncture that Lord Gartham stepped in. He was an Irish peer, and poor himself, but he could not see his sister's children entirely penniless. Ida the eldest was twenty-four when her father died; Bess, had reached the age of twenty-three; and Sidney the youngest, was sixteen. The five Endicottes were all handsome, and had high spirits; but poorer than the proverbial church mouse. What was to be done?

"We'll earn our own livings," said Bess who was the most energetic of the five. "Ida can look after the house, Frank can manage the farm; and Sidney can go to school, and I shall ask Mr. Arch to take me on to the Weekly Chronicle."

"But my dear child!" expostulated the Earl.

"What does it matter?" cried Bess. "We are the Endicottes whatever we may do. Everybody knows who we are and what we are. There is nothing disgraceful in earning one's own living Uncle Gar!"

The Earl--rather a helpless person--who had never done a stroke of honest work in his life, was rather surprised at the energy of Bess. However her scheme recommended itself to his favour since there was absolutely no other way of settling the matter. In one way and another, Lord Gartham paid off the debts by selling some of the land, and arranged that the united five should have a small income which they would have to increase as best they could. Thus it was that the Endicottes found themselves with their ancestral home, a small farm, two hundred a year, and the world before them.

They were all young and hearty so they thought very little of the matter. Bess obtained a post on the Weekly Chronicle at Beorminster, Ida looked after the house, and Frank managed the farm. Flo was put to a Beorminster school, whence she returned once a week to Saxham, and Sidney studied under Mr. Corn who expressed a desire to take him. The countryside all approved of this independent spirit, and made much of the Biffs.

When the Colonel died, this had been going on for three years. Ida was still unmarried, as she had refused several offers. "I cannot leave the children," she said, and people were divided as to the wisdom of this attitude. Some said it was right; but the majority agreed that it was a pity such a beautiful girl should develop into an old maid. But the fact is no one knew Ida's secret. She was in love with Stephen, and although they had never spoken on the subject they understood one another very well. Hitherto Stephen's poverty had prevented his speaking openly. Now the inheritance of eight thousand a year had altered all that, and he intended to ask Ida to be his wife on the very earliest opportunity.

It was a pity Jim did not know of this. He had fallen in love with Ida, and as she was always pleasant to him, it never crossed his mind that her heart was engaged. Open on most points with his new friend, Stephen out of delicacy for Ida was reticent about his love. So Jim continued to live in a Fool's Paradise, and not even the sharp-eyed Joyce had been able to able to enlighten him.

Certainly Mrs. Marsh had spoken to Jim on the subject. She wanted Stephen to marry Miss Endicotte, But Dr. Herrick thought that was merely her own desire, and did not think there was anything serious between the young people. Nor could Mrs. Marsh inform him of more than the fact that they liked one another, and that it was the desire of her heart to see them married.

One day when Stephen was at Saxham, Mrs. Marsh had a long talk with the doctor in which he saw more of her stormy character, than had ever been shown to him before. She could sit up in bed now, and wearied of the society of Petronella, frequently asked Herrick to stay beside her.

"You are one of the few sensible men I have met," she said, drawing her black brows together. "Come and talk. I want you to tell me what you think of Stephen."

"What can I think but that he is the best of fellows," replied Jim taking a chair by the beside.

"H'm! That sounds like the 'weakest of men,' Stephen I mean. You are strong enough in every way. That is why I want you to look after Stephen."

"How do you mean look after him Mrs. Marsh." The widow mused for a time before replying. "He is a good-hearted fool," she said at last, "and with his sweet nature is likely to be imposed upon in this world. Now he is rich and scoundrels will prey on him. I want you to see he comes to no harm."

"But I have to return to London," remonstrated Jim, rather taken aback by the responsibility thrust upon him. "I am not a rich man Mrs. Marsh, and I must look after my practice."

"I can arrange all that," she replied sharply. "You are a good man Dr. Herrick. I can see that; and I'm no fool. All your influence over Stephen will be for good. I can get him to offer you some inducement to stay beside him--at all events until he is married."

"Until he is married?" echoed Jim puzzled. "Has he any intention of getting married?"

"Not that I know of. He is too much wrapped up in his poetry. But I wish him to marry Ida Endicotte. She is a well-born girl and a good woman. I think she will make Stephen an excellent wife. She likes him."

Jim felt the blood flush in his face. "Liking is not love," he said in a rather irritated tone.

Mrs. Marsh pulled the curtains aside so that the light fell on the face of the young man. Then after a scrutiny she gave a short laugh. "So that is it, is it?" she said. "You are in love with the girl!"

"I never said so Mrs. Marsh."

"Pshaw! You can't blind me. I am a woman. Come. You are in love."

Herrick shrugged his broad shoulders. "I do not see why I should deny it," he said coldly, "I am in love with Miss Endicotte; but so far as I can judge she is not in love with me.

"I don't think she is in love with anyone," replied Mrs. Marsh, "but I have not seen enough of her to judge. If I could only see them together, I could tell. She likes Stephen though. But here I am chained to this bed and cannot get out to attend to matters of importance. Humph!" she eyed Herrick steadily, "so you are in love with her! Well! it has been the desire of my life to see Stephen married to Ida, but for all that, I want you to stay. Stephen shall give you a thousand a year to stay."

"My dear Mrs. Marsh!"

"Now don't contradict me or you will put me out of temper. And you know what that means. I ask you to stop, to show my regard for you. Many another woman would get you out of the way rather than see her pet scheme interfered with. I am not that sort of narrow-minded person. You shall have your chance along with Stephen. If she loves you, marry her in God's name and let's have done with the matter. If however she prefers my poor Stephen--sweet-hearted fool that he is--you must promise me not to put any obstacle in the way of the marriage."

"If Miss Endicotte prefers your step-son I certainly should not think of objecting Mrs. Marsh," said Herrick stiffly. "Your remark is rather unnecessary."

"I don't think it is," retorted the widow, "you are a gentleman, I know. But you are also a human being, and when love comes into the question there are few things a man will not do, or a woman for the matter of that!" She clenched her thin hand that laid outside the coverlet, and her face darkened. "I know! I know," she muttered between her teeth, "who should know but I who have suffered? Give me something to drink doctor. My throat is dry with talking."

"I think I had better leave you," said Herrick after her thirst was assuaged, "you are wearying yourself."

"Don't go," cried Mrs. Marsh abruptly, "I have much to say of importance. I may not be here long to say it."

"Nonsense, Mrs. Marsh. You are getting better,--much better."

"All the same I may die; one never knows," said the widow gloomily.

Herrick laughed at these forebodings. "What!" said he trying to joke her out of so morbid a mood, "have you enemies, like Carr?"

"Anyone who came into contact with Carr was bound to have enemies," said Mrs. Marsh bitterly. "He was a devil if ever there was one. However this is not to the point," she went on impatiently, "I want to know if you will stay with Stephen for a thousand a year?"

"It is a tempting offer to a poor man like myself," said Herrick with some hesitation, "but until Stephen himself asks me to stay, I cannot promise. He may not wish----"

"Oh, that is all right Dr. Herrick. Stephen knows that you are his best friend. I want you to take him in hand and make a man of him. He is too fond of poring over books; too careless of his physical health. Make him ride, and golf, and all the rest of it. I have been a fool keeping him so much beside me. But I love the boy, and that was my woman's weakness. Now he is rich, teach him how to use his riches and be happy."

"You have most influence over him" said Herrick still hesitating.

"I have had too much and not for the best" was her gloomy reply, "no; you are the teacher he wants. Besides who knows what may happen to me?"

Herrick looked at her uneasily. Again she had hinted at something of danger to herself. "I wish you would be plain with me," he said.

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Marsh with a frown.

"I think you can guess," retorted the doctor. "You hint at your dying; so far as I know there is not the least likelihood of your doing so unless you take an overdose of that chloral which I am always advising you to leave off. Have you some enemy who is likely to----"

"No!" replied Mrs. Marsh with unnecessary violence, "I have no enemy. But I feel--I have a presentiment--that I am not long for this world. As an Italian you know I am bound to be superstitious."

"I should think the English part of your blood would revolt against such morbid nonsense. Again I say you are not plain with me."

"I am. How dare you talk to me so!" cried Mrs. Marsh furiously. "You are the one man I have met in this world of fools, other than that dead devil Carr. If I made a confidant of anyone it would be of you. But so far as I personally am concerned there is nothing to say. But Stephen--" she hesitated and fell to plucking restlessly at the coverlet.

"Well! You wish me to be his bear-leader? If he is willing, I am willing. A thousand a year is not to be despised. Moreover my conscience is perfectly clear as regards Miss Endicotte."

"I understand. If she loves you, marry her by all means! If Stephen is her choice, you must promise----"

"I promise nothing," said Herrick impatiently walking to and fro, "there is no necessity to promise. I am a man of honour. If Stephen and Miss Endicotte love one another I am the last man in the world to step between them. You know that."

"If I didn't I should not ask you to stop and look after him," said Mrs. Marsh cynically. "However, you complained of my want of confidence. I am going to amend that. Do you know why I want you to stay with Stephen."

"To make a man of him--so you said."

"That certainly, but it is something of an excuse. I also want you--and this is the main reason--to guard him."

"Against whom? What are you hinting at?" asked Herrick sharply.

"At Frisco," was the unexpected reply. "Oh, you may look astonished, but if you remember the will?--well?"

"The will," repeated Dr. Jim, "I see what you mean. The money goes to Frisco if Stephen should neglect to visit the vault monthly for a year. What of that?"

"This much. Frisco killed Colonel Carr. Oh, I am sure of it! If not, why did he fly? Besides there is no one else I can think of who had an interest in Carr's death. I do not know what secrets he had, but what there were Frisco knew. That was why Carr left the money to him failing Stephen."

"Nonsense. If Frisco possessed Colonel Carr's secrets he could have blackmailed him without the necessity of murder."

"Ah, you don't know," said Mrs. Marsh mysteriously. "I have heard Frisco and Carr quarrel. It is my belief--if you remember Napper's evidence that they quarrelled on the night of the murder. They must have fought a duel, which is just what two devils like them would do. Frisco killed his master before he could fire a shot. That is why all the chambers of the revolver were found loaded. Well, Frisco has had to fly; but he will not give up his chance of getting the money. No! He will," here Mrs. Marsh bent forward to whisper, "he will try and maim or kill Stephen so that he may not fulfil the conditions of the will--and visit the vault. Then Frisco will claim the money. I have thought this all out while lying here."

"It is ingenious," replied Herrick, "but you forget that if Frisco shows himself, he will be arrested. That stops his attempting to harm Stephen."

Mrs. Marsh shook her head. "You do not know Frisco; I do," she said: and not another word could Herrick extract from her.