"Bai Jove!" exclaimed Max again; and then he sat helpless and frowning, while the stranger laid back the poor girl's head that she might breathe more freely, and half supported her till they reached the next stopping station, where she was transferred to a fly, and conveyed, under the care of Max Bray, to the nearest hotel. There is no difficulty in obtaining a doctor in a country town, and it was not long before one was by the sofa upon which Ella had been laid. "Well," said Max, after five minutes' examination, "what's to be done?" "Send for a nurse, and have Mrs--Mrs--I beg pardon, what name did you say?" "Williams," said Max. "To be sure--Williams," said the doctor; "and let Mrs Williams be at once conveyed to bed. She will have to be carefully tended and watched." "Fit to travel again to-morrow, I suppose?" said Max. "Come, now, no professional dodging." "To-morrow two months," said the doctor sharply, "perhaps;" and then he looked anything but pleasantly at Max. "What!" exclaimed Max viciously. "Bai Jove, you don't mean that!" "I mean, sir," said the doctor seriously, "that your lady is in a dangerous state, and I would not answer for her life if she were moved. I'll do my best, and we must be hopeful for what is to follow." "Bai Jove!" ejaculated Max, as he left the room; and sympathising hands were soon busy with the insensible form. "Mrs Williams, eh?" said the doctor to himself, as he superintended a portion of the arrangements; and then left to get some medicine made up. "Mrs Williams, eh? But, poor child, she does not travel in her wedding-ring!" Volume 3, Chapter XVIII. AN OVERTAXED BRAIN. "It was dooced unfortunate, bai Jove!" Max Bray said to himself, as he sat over his dinner at the snug little hotel at the end of the third day. He could not think what the foolish girl wanted to excite herself for to such an extent. It was absurd, "bai Jove, it was!" But his plan had answered all the same, and he'd wait till she got well, if it were a month first--he would, "bai Jove!" She'd come round then, with a little quiet talking to; and, after all, they were snug and out of sight in the little town, and nobody knew them, nor was likely to know them, that was the beauty of it. Certainly he could not get his letters; but that did not matter: they were sure to be all dunning affairs, and he'd not the slightest wish to have them. The only thing he regretted was not hearing from Laura. One thing, he said, was very evident--Ella must have been ill when they started, or this attack would never have come on so suddenly.