On the said Thursday morning, near the Castle, he met Ada Dixon. There was, indeed, a piercing east wind blowing, and the girl wore a common-looking fur cloak, with which her father had presented her at Christmas, and of which she had been proud, in that in shape and fashion it bore a faint resemblance to the costly garments in which Miss Wynter and Miss Askam were in the habit of wrapping themselves on cold days. Perhaps the dead black of the cloak showed up her pallor still more strongly by contrast; but as Michael met her—he was on foot, going to see a patient who lived beside the river-bank; she ascending a little hill, slowly and wearily, and he going down it—with her face a little upturned, and the flickering light quivering upon it through the leaves—her white hat and her fair hair,—as he met her thus, her appearance was almost spectral in its whiteness and fragility. She inclined her head to him, and would have passed on. But he stopped, and held out his hand to her. ‘Good morning, Miss Dixon. You must not think me meddlesome, but when Roger is not here, I consider you a little bit under my care; and my duty obliges me to tell you that you are not looking so robust as is desirable. Have you been catching cold?’ He was surprised at the effect of his words. Ada’s white face became in a moment angrily red; the colour rushing over it in a flood. Her eyes flashed, and in a voice that was sharp with irritation, she said— ‘Nothing ails me at all. I’m as well as I can be, and I think there’s no call for you to make such remarks, Dr. Langstroth.’ ‘I am sure I beg your pardon if I have offended you. I assure you there is nothing I less wish to do. I am very glad if you do feel well. Only, I wish you looked stronger—that is all.’ ‘What do looks matter, when one feels perfectly well?’ said Ada. ‘There is certainly a good deal in that. Good morning. I will not detain you.’ He raised his hat, and was moving on; indeed, he had walked a pace or two, when Ada’s voice, just behind him, caused him to turn again. She looked embarrassed, and half stammered, as she said— ‘Oh, please—do you know—have you any idea when Miss Askam is coming home?’ ‘I have not,’ said he, gravely, and very much surprised. ‘At least, I know nothing of the exact day; but before Whitsuntide, Mrs. Johnson says. She would know, I daresay, if you like to call and ask her.’ ‘Oh, thank you! I’ll see. It’s—it’s not of so much importance,’ said Ada. ‘Good morning, Dr. Langstroth.’ They parted. Michael went on his way, and as he went he shook his head. ‘It is not of the least use for her to tell me that she is perfectly well. She is very ill indeed, and something ought to be done for her.’ Many times during the day he thought of Ada, and of her changed looks, and wondered how Mrs. Dixon would take it if he spoke to her about her daughter. About seven o’clock, just as he was sitting down to his solitary dinner, his dining-room door was opened, and Roger Camm walked in.