'Yes, I am vexed,' he continued sitting down by her; but his tone was more gentle now. 'I am vexed that you are hiding from us that you are suffering. You keep us all in the dark; you deny you are ill. I think you are treating us all very badly.' 'No--no,' she returned, with difficulty. 'I am not ill--you must not tell me so.' And her cheek paled perceptibly. 'Have you turned coward suddenly?' he replied, with a keen look at her. 'I have heard you say more than once that the dread of illness was unknown to you; that you could have walked a fever hospital without a shudder. What has become of your courage, Miss Lambert?' 'I am not afraid, but I do not want to be ill,' she returned, faintly. 'That is more unlike you than ever. Impatience, want of submission, do not certainly belong to your category of faults. Well, if you promise to follow my prescription, I think I can undertake that you shall not be ill.' Mildred drew a long sigh of relief; the sigh of an oppressed heart was not lost on Dr. Heriot. 'But you must get rid of what is on your mind,' he went on, quickly. 'If other people's burdens lie heavily, you must shift them to their own shoulders and think only of yourself. Now I want to ask you a few questions.' Mildred looked frightened again, but something in Dr. Heriot's manner this morning constrained her to obey. His inquiries were put skilfully, and needed only a yea and nay, as though he feared she would elude him. Mildred found herself owning to loss of appetite and want of sleep; to languor and depression, and a tendency to excessive irritation; noises jarred on her; a latent excitement took the place of strength. She had lost all pleasure in her duties, though she still fulfilled them. 'And now what does this miserable state of the nerves mean?' was his next question. Mildred said nothing. 'You have suffered no shock--nothing has alarmed you?' She shook her head. 'You cannot eat or sleep; when you speak you change colour with every word; you are wasted, getting thinner every day, and yet there is no disease. This must mean something, Miss Lambert--excuse me; but I am your friend as well as your doctor. I cannot work in the dark.' Mildred's lips quivered. 'I want change--rest. I have had anxieties--no one can be free in this world. I am getting too weak for my work.' What a confession from Mildred! At another time she would have died rather than utter it; but his quiet strength of will was making evasion impossible. She felt as though this friend of hers was reading her through and through. She must escape in some measure by throwing herself upon his mercy. He looked uneasy at that; his eyes softened, then suffused. 'I thought as much,' he muttered; 'I could not be deceived by that face.' And a great pity swelled up in his heart.