Except in a few occasional instances, Mr. Ambrose Cortelyon, who prided himself on his possession of an unbiassed mind, was not in the habit of being unreasonable either in his demands or his expectations, whether they concerned himself or others. Thus, he was quite aware that when his convalescence, so to call it, had reached a certain point and made no advance beyond it, it would be both useless and unreasonable on his part to look for any. Although Dinkel's marvellous drug could do much, it could not work miracles. He, the Squire, must not only be content, but must deem himself one of the most fortunate of men that such a measure of health had been given back to him as was now his, and henceforward his most fervent prayer must be for a continuance of it for an indefinite time to come. Dinkel had held out to him the hope--nay, it had been next door to a promise--of a prolongation of his life for several months. What was there to hinder those months from extending themselves to years? He himself could see nothing in the way. Why should he not go on as he was going on now till his years had stretched themselves out to fourscore? Of course, he was only living a half-life, as it were; it was existence with sadly maimed powers, but only on such terms was existence possible to him at all. When we can't have what we would, the only wisdom is to content ourselves with what we have. He was quite aware of his utter dependence on Dinkel, but on that score he had no fears. He knew that the young doctor meditated a removal to London before long; indeed, the contingency had already been discussed between them and provided for. Week by week Dinkel would forward to his mother by coach a small packet containing seven phials, the contents of one of which would be administered to the Squire each day by Mrs. Dinkel, whose services had been exclusively secured by the payment of a wage far more liberal than she could hope to obtain elsewhere. Dinkel's own services were to be remunerated at the rate of one hundred pounds a month for as long a time as he should prove successful in keeping his patient in the land of the living. Under these circumstances, the Squire could bear to look forward to Dinkel's proximate departure with tolerable equanimity. Dr. Banks, at the Squire's request, still kept up his visits to the Hall, but he no longer came daily as of yore. At each visit the same little farce, which each knew to be a farce, was enacted between him and his patient. Having felt the latter's pulse and looked at his tongue, Banks would remark in his inanely amiable way: "We are going on famously--famously. Strength thoroughly maintained; total absence of febrile symptoms; temperature absolutely normal. I think we could not do better than keep on with the old medicine." "Of course we couldn't, Banks," the Squire would respond with a chuckle. "It's wonderful stuff that of yours. Send another pailful along as soon as you like."