“No, Sir; no connexion even.” “Oh, this is the housekeeper! Show me your patient, and tell me about the case as we go along;” and abruptly returning Sir Within’s salutation, he left the room, and proceeded up-stairs. “Yes, yes,” he muttered, as the housekeeper recounted the symptoms. “Yes; I know all that: but I want to hear how it began. Was there any shock--any accident? None? Mere fatigue--a long ride--over-exertion--a very hot day! Yes, yes, quite common--answers at first collectively, and then goes off raving--that’s enough!” The rough ungracious man, abrupt of speech, and actually rude in manner, became gentle as a woman as he stole up to the bedside and laid his hand on the hot and burning forehead. She raised her hand, tremulous with fever, and placed it upon his, and said: “Yes; the pain is there!” “Let us see if we cannot cure it,” said he softly, as he sat down beside the bed. She turned her large lustrous eyes upon him--brightened as they were in the glow of fever--and stared at him steadfastly and long. He was counting her pulse, and she watched his lips as they faintly stirred, as though she could read her fate in their motion. “Well?” cried she--“well?” “Well, you are about to get better, my dear child; the fever is decreasing, and your head freer.” “Yes,” said she, hurriedly, “the horrid fancies that torment me are passing away, and I can think now. Who are you?” asked she, after a pause. “I am your doctor.” “But your name? I never saw you before.” “I know that! This is my first visit to you. My name is Morland.” “Morland--Morland--I have read that name in the newspapers. Sir William, or Sir something.” “Sir Henry Morland.” “Physician to the King, I declare,” said she, raising herself on one arm to look at him; “and you have come here, all this way, to see me!” “And very well worth my while it was. It is not every day I chance upon so interesting a patient.” “How kind you are--how pleasant your voice is; it soothes me to listen to it.” “But we must not talk any more now, my child.” “O yes, let us talk, it is so delightful; tell me of all the fine people you see daily. Do you speak to them as kindly as to me, or are you more reserved and distant? Do tell me.” “I will tell you all about these things another time, when it will be safer for you to hear them. You must have perfect rest and quiet now.” “It would quiet me far more to listen to you than to let me think on and on, as I have been doing. You are going away already?” “I cannot help it, my child; I have many others waiting for me to see them.” “But you wouldn’t hurry away from me in this fashion if I were a great person?” “Pardon me; you are a very great person to _me_.” “How so? Tell me what you mean; do tell me,” cried she; and she started up and caught his hand with both her own. “I must know what that means.”