Dr. Willis looked at Lady Bassett, as much as to say, “I shall not give _him_ my real reason;” and then said, “I think it very undesirable you should be excited and provoked, until your health is thoroughly restored.” Dr. Willis wrote a prescription, and retired. Lady Bassett sank into a chair, and trembled all over. Her divining fit was on her; she saw the hand of the enemy, and filled with vague fears. Mary Wells tried to, comfort her. “I'll take care no more strangers get in here,” said she. “And, my lady, if you are afraid, why not have the keepers, and two or three more, to sleep in the house? for, as for them footmen, they be too soft to fight.” “I will,” said Lady Bassett; “but I fear it will be no use. Our enemy has so many resources unknown to me. How can a poor woman fight with a shadow, that comes in a moment and strikes; and then is gone and leaves his victim trembling?” Then she slipped into the dressing-room and became hysterical, out of her husband's sight and hearing. Mary Wells nursed her, and, when she was better, whispered in her ear, “Lose no more time, then. Cure him. You know the way.” CHAPTER XVII. IN the present condition of her mind these words produced a strange effect on Lady Bassett. She quivered, and her eyes began to rove in that peculiar way I have already noticed; and then she started up and walked wildly to and fro; and then she kneeled down and prayed; and then, alarmed, perplexed, exhausted, she went and leaned her head on her patient's shoulder, and wept softly a long time. Some days passed, and no more strangers attempted to see Sir Charles. Lady Bassett was beginning to breathe again, when she was afflicted by an unwelcome discovery. Mary Wells fainted away so suddenly that, but for Lady Bassett's quick eye and ready hand, she would have fallen heavily. Lady Bassett laid her head down and loosened her stays, and discovered her condition. She said nothing till the young woman was well, and then she taxed her with it. Mary denied it plump; but, seeing her mistress's disgust at the falsehood, she owned it with many tears. Being asked how she could so far forget herself, she told Lady Bassett she had long been courted by a respectable young man; he had come to the village, bound on a three years' voyage, to bid her good-by, and, what with love and grief at parting, they had been betrayed into folly; and now he was on the salt seas, little dreaming in what condition he had left her: “and,” said she, “before ever he can write to me, and I to him, I shall be a ruined girl; that is why I wanted to put an end to myself; I _will,_ too, unless I can find some way to hide it from the world.” Lady Bassett begged her to give up those desperate thoughts; she would think what could be done for her. Lady Bassett could say no more to her just then, for she was disgusted with her.