How vague, how incompatible with the humdrum tenor of our quiet days at Rockmount that collect used to sound! “_That amidst the sundry and manifold changes of this world, our hearts may surely there be fixed, where true joys are to le found, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen_.” Now, as if newly understanding it, I also repeat, “Amen.” We started, Lisabel, Augustus, Doctor Urquhart, and I. We went through the village, down the moorland-road, to the ponds, which Augustus wanted to examine, with a view to wild-duck shooting, next, or, rather, I might say, this winter, for Christmas is coming close upon us, though the weather is still so mild. Lisa and her husband walked on first, and quickly left us far behind; for, not having been out for so long, except the daily stroll round the garden, which Doctor Urquhart had insisted upon, the fresh air seemed to turn me dizzy. I managed to stumble on through the village, keeping up talk, too, for Doctor Urquhart hardly said anything, until we came out upon the open moor, bright, breezy, sunshiny. Then I felt a choking--a longing to cry out or sob--my head swam round and round. “Are you wearied?--you look as if you were.” “Will you like to take my arm?” “Sit down--sit down on this stone--my child!” I heard these sentences distinctly, one after the other, but could not answer. I felt my bonnet-strings untied, and the wind blowing on my face--then all grew light again, and I looked round. “Do not be frightened; you will be well in a minute or two. I only wonder that you have kept up so bravely, and are so strong.” This I heard too--in a cheerful kind voice--and soon after I became quite myself, but ready to cry with vexation, or something, I don't know what. “You will not tell anybody?” I entreated. “No, not anybody,” said he, smiling, “if turning faint was such a crime. Now, you can walk? Only not alone, just at present, if you please.” I do not marvel at the almost unlimited power which, Augustus says, Doctor Urquhart has over his patients. A true physician--not only of bodies, but souls. We walked on, I holding his arm. For a moment, I was half afraid of Lisabel's laugh, and the silly etiquette of our neighbourhood; which holds that if a lady and gentleman walk arm-in-arm they must be going to be married. Then _I_ forgot both, and only thought what a comfort it was in one's weakness to have an arm to lean on, and one that you knew, you felt, was not unwilling to have you resting there.