The dreaded critics received the tidings of his indisposition without cavil at its imputed origin, treated the whole subject with comparative indifference, which would have mortified him a week ago, but seemed now to assuage his unrest. The breakfast hour was a quiet one. Herbert could not attempt the form of eating, despite his expressed hope of the curative effects of nourishment, and sipped his black coffee at tedious intervals of pain, looking more ill after each. Mabel was silent, and regardful of his suffering, while Mrs. Aylett toyed with the tea-cup, broke her biscuit into small heaps of crumbs upon her plate, and under her visor of ennui and indolent musing, kept her eye upon her vis-a-vis, whose face was opaque ice; and his intonations, when he deigned to speak, meant nothing save that he was controller of his own meditations, and would not be meddled with. “You are not well enough to ride over to the Courthouse with me, Dorrance?” he said, interrogatively, his meal despatched. “It is court-day, you know?” “What do you say, Mabel?” was Herbert's clumsy reference to his nurse. “Don't you think I might venture?” “I would not, if I were in your place,” she replied, cautiously dissuasive. “The day is raw, and there will be rain before evening. Dampness always aggravates neuralgia.” “It is neuralgia, then, is it?” queried Winston, shortly, drawing on his boots. His sister looked up surprised. “What else should it be?” “Nothing--unless the symptoms indicate softening of the brain!” he rejoined, with his slight, dissonant laugh. “In either case, your decision is wise. He is better off in your custody than he would be abroad. I hope I shall find you convalescent when I return. Good morning!” His wife accompanied him to the outer door. “It is chilly!” she shivered, as this was opened. “Are you warmly clad, love?” feeling his overcoat. “And don't forget your umbrella.” Her hand had not left his shoulder, and, in offering a parting kiss, she leaned her head there also. “I wish you would not go!” she said impulsively and sincerely. “Why?” “I cannot say--except that I dread to be left alone all day. You may laugh at me, but I feel as if something terrible were hanging over me--or you. The spiritual oppression is like the physical presentiment sensitive temperaments suffer when a thunder-storm is brooding, but not ready to break. Yet I can refer my fears to no known cause.” “That is folly.” Mr. Aylett bit off the end of a cigar, and felt in his vest pocket for a match-safe. “You should be able always to assign a reason for the fear as well as the hope that is in you. You have no idea, you say, from what recent event your prognostication takes its hue?” She laughed, and straightened her fine neck. “From the same imprudence that has consigned poor Herbert to the house for the day, I suspect--a late and heavy dinner. I had the nightmare twice before morning. You will be home to supper?” “Yes.”