"And I think very much as I did before. I think he is nervous, he says he is not ill; but he is nervous and whimsical, and as men always are when they happen to be out of sorts, very positive; and of course the only thing that can quite undeceive him is the lapse of the time he has fixed for his prediction, as it is sure to pass without any tragic result of any sort. We shall then all see alike the nature of his delusion." "O, Maud, if I were only sure you thought so! if I were sure you really had hopes! Tell me, Maud, for God's sake, what you really think." Lady Walsingham was a little disconcerted by the unexpected directness of her appeal. "Come, darling, you must not be foolish," she said; "we can only talk of impressions, and we are imposed upon by the solemnity of his manner, and the fact that he evidently believes in his own delusion; every one does believe in his own delusion--there is nothing strange in that." "O, Maud, I see you are not convinced; you are only trying to comfort me. You have no hope--none, none, none!" and she covered her face with her hands, and wept again convulsively. Lady Walsingham was silent for a moment, and then with an effort said, as she placed her hand on her sister's arm, "You see, dear Janet, there is no use in my saying the same thing over and over again; an hour or two will show who is right. Sit down again, and be like yourself. My maid told me that you had sent to the parlour for Doctor Torvey; he must not find you so. What would he think? Unless you mean to tell him of Bale's strange fancy; and a pretty story that would be to set afloat in Golden Friars. I think I hear him coming." So, in effect, he was. Doctor Torvey--with the florid gravity of a man who, having just swallowed a bottle of port, besides some glasses of sherry, is admitted to the presence of ladies whom he respects--entered the room, made what he called his "leg and his compliments," and awaited the ladies' commands. "Sit down, Doctor Torvey," said Lady Walsingham, who in the incapacity of her sister undertook the doing of the honours. "My sister, Lady Mardykes, has got it into her head somehow that Sir Bale is ill. I have been speaking to him; he certainly does not look very well, but he says he is quite well. Do you think him well?--that is, we know you don't think there is anything of importance amiss--but she wishes to know whether you think him _perfectly_ well." The Doctor cleared his voice and delivered his lecture, a little thickly at some words, upon Sir Bale's case; the result of which was that it was no case at all; and that if he would only live something more of a country gentleman's life, he would be as well as any man could desire--as well as any man, gentle or simple, in the country. "The utmost I should think of doing for him would be, perhaps, a little quinine, nothing mo'--shurely--he is really and toory a very shoun' shtay of health." Lady Walsingham looked encouragingly at her sister and nodded.