"What town is that?" demanded Beauchamp speaking out of the window to the postilion. "There--before you--a little to the left, leaning its back against the hills, with two or three neat chateaux scattered on the slope." "C'est Poligny, Monsieur!" replied the postilion; and, adding that they changed horses there, rode on. As they approached the little town, the country became richly cultivated in vines and corn; and the aspect of the whole scene, backed by mountains and sparkling with a thousand streams, was gay and engaging. "What a beautiful spot!" cried Miss Beauchamp. "I really think, Henry, when you marry, and turn me out of your house to die an old maid, I will buy yon gray chateau on the hill--looking something between a village church and a farm-house--and spend the rest of my days at Poligny." "See it first on a rainy day, Maria!" replied her brother, whose increasing anxiety and impatience did not afford the brightest medium through which to view the world. "Out, cynic!" cried his sister. "I will never see things on a rainy day when I can see them on a fine one; and now, tell me, whither are you going to whirl me at this violent rate? What particular spot of the earth's surface is the ultimate object of this journey, my lord? Or are we to go on rolling for ever?" "Why, I think, my dear sister," replied Beauchamp musing; "I think it is not unlikely to end in Sicily--I have some reason to imagine"---- "Goodness!" exclaimed Miss Beauchamp, interrupting him, "that must surely be an English woman in the widow's dress." "Hai, postilion! Arrettez! Arrettez donc!" was all the young earl's reply to his sister's observation; and the next moment, much to her surprise, he was out of the carriage, and speaking kindly to the woman whom she had noticed, and who had turned round to take a casual glance of the two gay carriages that came dashing up into the little quiet town of Poligny. "Indeed! Is he so ill!" said Beauchamp gravely, as he listened to Widow Harrison's account of the journey she had lately taken, and her son's present situation. "I am really sorry to hear it--But you cannot have good medical advice here. It would be much better to get him on to Geneva." "Oh, but indeed we have very good advice, sir!" answered the widow. "There is good Dr. Arnoux here, who was in England in the time of the war--an emigrant--and lodged for three years in our house in Emberton before our misfortunes. I have just been getting Walter's medicines while he is asleep." "Well, Mrs. Harrison," replied Beauchamp, whose natural kindness of heart was not to be mastered even by impatience. "I will stay here at the inn to-day; and whenever you think that your son is likely to be awake, I will come down and see him. But you must point me out the house."