"I call it positively uncanny; but that is all in my niece's line. She is dreadfully morbid. I am glad there was no occultism or Christian Science when I was young." At these words Christian Science the famous consultant shuddered worse than at sight of the empty rooms. "If your sweet niece is _that_ way inclined we can do nothing for her," he said. "No, thank Heaven, that is not one of her fads." And then the fashionable physician gave his opinion of the case, or just so much of his opinion as he thought it good to give to an affectionate but not over wise aunt. He found that the patient's strength was at a very low ebb. She had been wasting her resources, living upon her capital, refusing herself the rest that was essential for so fragile a form, so sensitive a temperament, and so over-active a brain. Lady Okehampton had told him of the gaieties, the rush from place to place, from amusement to amusement, the everlasting entertaining and being entertained; and he talked as if he had been there, watching and taking notes, all through that wild career. He was not going to extinguish hope; so he kept up a cheerful tone throughout the conference. There was nothing heroic in the treatment required. Rest, and a soothing regimen. Not much walking, but a great deal of fresh air, Drives in her open carriage to rural suburbs, if she should insist on remaining in London; a little quiet society; the utmost care as to diet, and constant medical supervision. He would be glad to confer with Mrs. Rutherford's regular medical man before he left London; and he hoped, on his return in three or four weeks, to find a marked improvement. This was all. When questioned as to lung trouble, he said that there was trouble, but he saw no fatal indications. Yes, there was heart weakness; but nothing that might not be modified by care. Simple as she was, Lady Okehampton did not feel altogether assured by all this bland talk, and the sound of the doctor's carriage wheels, as they rolled away from the door, recalled the moaning of the winter waves under the red cliffs at Disbrowe. She repeated the specialist's diplomatic utterances to Claude, who did not seem to attach much importance to medical opinion. "All doctors talk alike," he said. "I don't think Vera's is a case for the faculty. You remember what Macbeth said to his physician?" Lady Okehampton did not remember; but she gave a sigh of assent that answered as well. "I'm afraid Vera's is a rooted sorrow, and, God help me! _I_ cannot pluck it from her memory. We had better leave her alone. We can do nothing more for her. We can't make her happy." "Claude, this is too dreadful. Are we to let her die?" cried Aunt Mildred, with something like an elderly shriek. "Is death so great an evil? At least it means rest, and there are some of us who can get rest no other way." "Claude, it is positively dreadful to hear you talk like that, as if you cared for nothing in this life." "I don't."