"He takes a great deal too much care of me, doctor," I cried. "Do not make him think I am an invalid, or he will make a complete hothouse plant of me." "Who ever saw an invalid with such a color as that?" asked Ernest. "Too bright--too mutable," answered the doctor, shaking his head. "She is right. You keep her too close. Let her run wild, like any other country girl. Let her rise early and go out into the barnyard, see the cows milked, inhale their odorous breathings, wander in the fields among the new-mown hay, let her rake it into mounds and throw herself on the fragrant heaps, as I have seen her do when a little school-girl. Let her do just as she pleases, go where she pleases, stay as long as she pleases, in the open air and free sunshine; and mark my words, she will wear on her cheeks the steady bloom of the milkmaid, instead of the flitting rosiness of the sunset cloud." "I am not conscious of imposing so much restraint on her actions as your words imply," said Ernest, a flush of displeasure passing over his pale and anxious countenance. "Make her take a ride on horseback every morning and evening," continued Dr. Harlowe, with perfect coolness, without taking any notice of the interruption. "Best exercise in the world. Fine rides for equestrians through the green woods around here. If that does not set her right, carry her to the roaring Falls of Niagara, or the snowy hills of New Hampshire, or the Catskill Mountains, or the Blue Ridge. I cannot let the flower of the village droop and fade." As he finished the sentence, the merry tones of his voice became grave and subdued. He spoke as one having the authority of science and experience, as well as the privilege of affection. I looked down to hide the moisture that glistened in my eyes. "How would you like to travel as the doctor has suggested, Gabriella?" asked Ernest, who seemed much moved by the doctor's remarks. "You know I would go to"-- "Nova Zembla, if she wished it," interrupted the doctor, "but that is too far and too cold. Begin with a shorter journey. I wish I could accompany you, but I cannot plead as an excuse my wife's delicacy of constitution. Her health is as uniform as her temper; and even if life and death were at stake, she would not leave her housekeeping in other hands. Neither would she close her doors and turn her locks, lest moth and rust should corrupt, and thieves break in and steal. But pardon me. I have given you no opportunity to answer your husband's question." "I shall only feel too happy to avail myself of his unnecessary fears with regard to my health," I answered. "It will be a charming way of passing the summer, if Mrs. Linwood and Edith will consent." Dr. Harlowe accompanied us home, and nothing was talked of but the intended journey. The solicitude of Ernest was painfully roused, and he seemed ready to move heaven and earth to facilitate our departure.