"My dear young lady," he said, kindly, "the opinion I have given is a true one, though perhaps not all the truth, and--well, she requires great care. There is a prostration of the vital powers--great want of energy. She wants rousing. Every means should be tried to accomplish that; otherwise, I need not say, this weakness and debility will increase, and of necessity do mischief." "Every means," replied Amy, "but what means? what must I do?" "Whatever lies in your power: whatever the patient, which I know she is in both senses of the word, expresses a wish for. She should be humoured in everything, but I need not tell you that, Miss Neville." "And can nothing else be done?--no change of air tried?" "Decidedly, if possible. It is the _one_ remedy needful; the only remedy, in fact, and I should have named it at first, only I deemed it impracticable of accomplishment." "You think Mamma might recover if she went away?" asked Amy. "With God's help, I do; but the step should be taken at once. If delayed it might be too late. And now, keep up your spirits and hope for the best. Remember there is nothing so bad as a tearful face and aching heart for your mother to see." "Too late!" Those words rang in Amy's ears all day. It should not be too late. And yet how nearly had her mother been sacrificed to her blind infatuation for one who she now felt had never loved her, but only carelessly flirted to trifle away the hours that perhaps hung heavy on his hands. Alas! what would Mr. Linchmore say, did he know that the very fate he had warned her would be hers if she allowed her heart to become enslaved by Mr. Vavasour, had even overtaken her at the hand of his brother. Not many days after Dr. Ashley had gone, a letter arrived from Anne Bennet. It ran thus:-- "Brampton Park, "February 25th. "MY DEAR MISS NEVILLE,