Osmond closed the vein, observing that a local bleeding would do the rest. When he had staunched the blood, Mrs. Dodd sank half fainting in her chair. By some marvellous sympathy it was she who had been bled, and whose vein was now closed. Osmond sprinkled water on her face; she thanked him, and said sweetly, “You see I could not have lost any more.” When it was over she came to tell Julia; she found her sitting on the stairs crying and pale as marble. She suspected. And there was Alfred hanging over her, and in agony at her grief: out came his love for her in words and accents unmistakable, and this in Osmond's hearing and the maid's. “Oh, hush! hush!” cried poor Mrs. Dodd, and her face was seen to burn through her tears. And this was the happy, quiet, little villa of my opening chapters. Ah! Richard Hardie! Richard Hardie! The patient was cupped on the nape of the neck by Mr. Osmond, and, on the glasses drawing, showed signs of consciousness, and the breathing was relieved. These favourable symptoms were neither diminished nor increased by the subsequent application of the cupping needles. “We have turned the corner.” said Mr. Osmond cheerfully. Rap! rap! rap! came a telegraphic message from Dr. Sampson, and was brought up to the sick-room. “Out visiting patients when yours came. In apoplexy with a red face and stertorous breathing, put the feet in mustard bath and dash much cold water on the head from above. On revival give emetic: cure with sulphate of quinine. In apoplexy with a white face, treat as for a simple faint: here emetic dangerous. In neither apoplexy bleed. Coming down by train.” This message added to Mrs. Dodd's alarm; the whole treatment varied so far from what had been done. She faltered her misgivings. Osmond reassured her. “Not bleed in apoplexy!” said he superciliously; “why, it is the universal practice. Judge for yourself. You see the improvement.” Mrs. Dodd admitted it. “Then as to the cold water,” said Osmond, “I would hardly advise so rough a remedy. And he is going on so well. But you can send for ice; and meantime give me a good-sized stocking.” He cut and fitted it adroitly to the patient's head, then drenched it with eau-de-Cologne, and soon the head began to steam. By-and-bye, David muttered a few incoherent words, and the anxious watchers thanked God aloud for them. At length Mr. Osmond took leave with a cheerful countenance, and left them all grateful to him, and with a high opinion of his judgment and skill, especially Julia. She said Dr. Sampson was very amusing to talk to, but she should be sorry to trust to that rash, reckless, boisterous man in time of danger. About two in the morning a fly drove rapidly up to the villa, and Sampson got out. He found David pale and muttering, and his wife and children hanging over him in deep distress.