"Yes," said the little, keen-looking body, kneeling down by her cousin's side; "uncle has only to leave off worrying about making more money and piling up riches that he will never enjoy, and he would soon be well again." Claude sighed. "See what a life he leads, always in such a hurry that he cannot finish a meal properly; and as to taking a bit of pleasure in any form, he would think it wicked. I haven't patience with him. Yes, I have, poor old fellow--plenty. He has been very good to miserable little me." "Of course he has, dear," said Claude, throwing her arms about her cousin's neck and kissing her, with the result that the sharp-looking, self-contained little body uttered an hysterical cry, clung to her, and burst out sobbing wildly, as if all control was gone. "Mary, darling, don't, pray don't. You distress me. What is the matter?" "I'm miserable, wretched," sobbed the poor girl, with her face hidden in her cousin's breast. "I always seem to be doing something wrong. It's just as if, when I tried to make people happy, I was a kind of imp of mischief, and caused trouble." "No, no, no! What folly." "It isn't folly; it's quite true. See what I did this morning." Claude felt her cheeks begin to burn, and she tried to speak, but the words would not come. "I knew that Chris Lisle had gone up the east river fishing, and I was sure he longed to see you, and I was quite certain you wanted to see him." "Mary, be silent," cried Claude, in an excited whisper; "it is not true." "Yes, it is, dear. You know it is, and I could see that he was miserable, and had been since you went on board Mr Glyddyr's yacht, so I felt that it would be quite right to take you round there, so that you might meet and make it up. And see what mischief I seem to have made." "Yes," said Claude gravely, as she metaphorically put on her maiden mask of prudery; "and you know now that it was very, very thoughtless of you." "Thoughtless!" said Mary, looking up with a quick look, half-troubled, half-amused; "didn't I think too much?" "Don't talk, Mary," said Claude primly. "You may disturb poor papa. It was very wicked and meddlesome and weak, and you don't know what harm you have done." Mary Dillon's face was flushed and tear-stained, and her eyes looked red and troubled; but she darted a glance at her cousin so full of mischievous drollery, that Claude's colour deepened, and she turned away troubled, and totally unable to continue the strain of reproof. She was spared further trouble by a cough heard in the hall. "Wipe your eyes quickly, Mary," she whispered; "here is Doctor Asher at last." Mary jumped up, and stepped to the window, where she was half hidden by the curtains, as there was a gentle tap at the door, the handle was turned, and the doctor, looking darker and more stern than ever, entered the room.