“What about her? Why, she was here this minute,” he exclaimed. “Is there anything amiss?” “I do not think she is so strong as she ought to be. You may not notice, perhaps. A woman is quicker to see these things than a man--and she and I used to walk and row together--I am able to see the difference in her since last year. She seems to me to have been going back in her health for the last month or two, since her wonderful recovery from her illness. Don’t be anxious, Martin!” she said, answering his agonized look. “I feel sure there is nothing that a little care cannot cure; but I want to put you on your guard. I asked her to let me send for Mr. Baynham, and she refused.” “Why, he sees her two or three times a week--he is in and out like one of ourselves.” “But he doesn’t see her professionally. He comes in hurriedly late in the evening--or between the lights--to fetch his wife. He is tired, and we all talk to him, and Isa is bright and lively. He is not likely to notice the change in her in that casual way.” “Is there a change?” “Yes, I am sure there is. Although I see her every day, I am conscious of the change.” “Baynham shall talk to her this afternoon.” “That’s right, Martin--and if I were you I’d have the doctor from Plymouth again.” Life had been so full of bliss lately, and yet he had not been afraid. Yes, it was the old story. “Metuit secundis.” That is what the wise man does. Fools do otherwise--hug themselves in their short-lived gladness, and say in their hearts, “There is no death.” * * * * * Mr. Baynham came in the afternoon, in answer to a little note from Martin Disney, and he and Isola were closeted together in the library for some time, with baby’s nurse in attendance to assist her mistress in preparing for the ordeal by stethoscope. Happily that little instrument which thrills us all with the aching pain of fear when we see it in the doctor’s hand, told no evil tidings of Isola’s lungs or heart. Thero was nothing organically wrong--but the patient was in a very weak state. “You really are uncommonly low,” said Mr. Baynham, looking at her intently as she stood before him in the wintry sunlight. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing to yourself to bring yourself down so much since last summer--after all the trouble I took to build you up, too. I’m afraid you’ve been worrying yourself about the youngster--a regular young Hercules. I don’t know whether he’d be up to strangling a pair of prize pythons; but I’m sure he could strangle you. I shall send you a tonic; and you’ll have to take a good deal more care of yourself than you seem to have been taking lately.” And then he laid down severe rules as to diet, until it seemed to Isola that he wished her to be eating and drinking all day--new-laid eggs, cream, old port, beef-tea--all the things which she had loathed in the dreary days of her long illness.