"I'm afraid," sighed little Mrs Bolter, "that Helen Perowne had a good deal to with my brother accepting the chaplaincy." "I'm sure she had," chuckled the doctor. "If I had thought so I would never have consented to come," said the lady with asperity. "Wouldn't you, Mary? Wouldn't you?" said the little doctor, taking her in his arms; and the lady withdrew her words just as a step was heard outside. "Here's another stoppage," cried the doctor, impatiently. "Why, it's Mrs Barlow. What does she want?" Mrs Barlow was a widow lady of about forty, the relict of a well-to-do merchant of the station, who, after her widowhood, preferred to stay and keep her brother's house to going back to England; at any rate, as she expressed it, for a few years. She was one of the set who visited at Mr Perowne's, and had also been at the trip up the river to the Inche Maida's home; but being a decidedly neutral-tinted lady, in spite of her black attire, she was so little prominent that mention of her has not been necessary until now. "Stop a minute;" she exclaimed, excitedly, as she arrested the doctor on his step. "Not ill, are you, Mrs Barlow?" queried the doctor. "Not bodily, doctor," she began, "but--" "My wife is inside, my dear madam," cried the doctor, "and I must be off." "Stop!" exclaimed Mrs Barlow, authoritatively; and she took the little doctor's arm, and led him back into the breakfast-room. "You are his brother, Dr Bolter. Mrs Bolter, you are his sister, ma'am. I can speak freely to you both." "Of course, madam, of course," said the doctor; and then to himself, "Has the woman been taking _very_ strong tea?" "I have only just learned the terrible news, Dr Bolter--Mrs Bolter," cried the lady, "and I came on to you." "Very kind of you I am sure, ma'am." "What do you think, doctor? You have some idea." "Not the least at present, ma'am. I was just off to see." "That is good of you; but tell me first," cried the widow, half hysterically. "You do not--you cannot think--that that dreadful woman--" "What, the Inche Maida, ma'am?" "No, no! I mean Helen Perowne--has deluded him into following her away to some other settlement." "Whom, ma'am, Hilton or Chumbley?" "Oh, dear me, no, doctor; I mean dear Mr Rosebury." "Oh, you mean dear Mr Rosebury, do you?" said the doctor. "Yes, Dr Bolter; oh, yes. Tell me; do you think that dreadful girl has deluded him away?" "No, ma'am, I don't," cried the doctor, stoutly. "Hang it all, no! I'd give her the credit of a good deal, but not of that. Hang it, no." "Thank you, doctor," said the lady hysterically. "Of course I should have forgiven it, and set it all down to her; but you do me good, doctor, by assuring me that my surmise is impossible. What do you think then?" "That it's all a mystery for us to find out, and I was going to hunt it up when you stopped me, ma'am."