“My cousin, Mr Charles Graeme, I presume?” said I. “My friends are not so many that I should have any difficulty in discovering them.” Doctor Pulvers looked confused. “No, no. Mr Charles, whom I have the pleasure of knowing, is no doubt much attached to you, Mr Graeme; but, to tell the truth, the principal person was a lady--and a very young and charming one, I assure you. Mrs Edward Maxwell.” It was a lie, I knew, and I contained myself--the person who bore that name was not my Lilias; but I would not have inflicted on Charlie such a pang as shot through my heart, while these words were deliberately pronounced in my ear, for all the evil he had done, and for all he designed to do. This was the application of the touch-stone; my simple unsuspicious wits were miraculously sharpened as I thought--I saw that this was the test. “Mrs Maxwell is very kind,” I said, and I did not falter. Then he began to inquire into my symptoms. “This is quite useless,” I said. “I cannot suppose, Doctor Pulvers, that you can have been in the neighbourhood as you say, without hearing from some benevolent friend the history and origin of any sufferings I may have been enduring. Such as they are, they belong to myself alone, and admit of no probing; but I am glad that I can authorize you to satisfy the sudden anxiety of my friends, by an assurance of my rapidly progressing recovery. I beg you will carry my thanks to all; but symptoms I have none to tell you, unless it were of one or two swellings of indignation which I have been sensible of lately--and that I presume is a tolerably healthful emotion, and one which you are not accustomed to class as a symptom of disease.” Doctor Pulvers looked annoyed and discomfited, and I became sorry for him; however he changed the subject with admirable art, and had plunged me into a long discursive conversation before I was well aware. He was an intelligent, agreeable man, and I had shut myself out from all society so long, that I forgave him the object of his visit, and would have almost forgotten it, had he not with most delicate tact and _finesse_, when he fancied me completely off my guard, suddenly introduced that name again, which made my whole frame thrill as with a wound, and brought the moisture in cold showers to my brow. He repeated this again and again, but each time I conquered. At last he rose to leave me. “Mr Graeme,” he said, offering me his hand, and looking again in my face, but this time with a less singular steadiness of gaze than before, “I assure you I am most happy that I have found you so much better than your friends imagined. I congratulate you heartily on your evident sound health and good constitution; but, if you will permit me to advise, do not try it so severely as you have done, and come yourself, and let all interested in you see how perfectly competent you are on this, and all other matters, to judge for yourself.”