So the straw hat and mantle were sent for. Lilian was wrapped with unnecessary care, and we all went forth into the garden. Involuntarily we took the way to the Monk’s Well, and at every step Lilian seemed to revive under the bracing air and temperate sun. We paused by the well. “You do not feel fatigued, Miss Ashleigh?” “No.” “But your face seems changed. It is grown sadder.” “Not sadder.” “Sadder than when I first saw it,--saw it when you were seated here!” I said this in a whisper. I felt her hand tremble as it lay on my arm. “You saw me seated here!” “Yes. I will tell you how some day.” Lilian lifted her eyes to mine, and there was in them that same surprise which I had noticed on my first visit,--a surprise that perplexed me, blended with no displeasure, but yet with a something of vague alarm. We soon returned to the house. Mrs. Ashleigh made me a sign to follow her into the drawing-room, leaving Mrs. Poyntz with Lilian. “Well?” said she, tremblingly. “Permit me to see Dr. Jones’s prescriptions. Thank you. Ay, I thought so. My dear madam, the mistake here has been in depressing nature instead of strengthening; in narcotics instead of stimulants. The main stimulants which leave no reaction are air and light. Promise me that I may have my own way for a week,--that all I recommend will be implicitly heeded?” “I promise. But that cough,--you noticed it?” “Yes. The nervous system is terribly lowered, and nervous exhaustion is a strange impostor; it imitates all manner of complaints with which it has no connection. The cough will soon disappear! But pardon my question. Mrs. Poyntz tells me that you consulted a clairvoyants about your daughter. Does Miss Ashleigh know that you did so?” “No; I did not tell her.”