“I doubt that. He complained of headache and fever. But I soon found his MIND was worried. A misunderstanding with the trades! I was very much pleased with his face and manner; my carriage was at the door; his pulse was high, but there was nothing that country air and quiet will not restore. So I just drove him away, and landed him in a farm-house.” Mrs. Little's brow flushed at this. She was angry. But, in a nature so gentle as hers, anger soon gave way. She turned a glance of tearful and eloquent reproach on Dr. Amboyne. “The first time we have ever been separated since he was born,” said she, with a sigh. Dr. Amboyne's preconceived plan broke down that moment. He said, hurriedly, “Take my carriage, and drive to him. Better do that than torment yourself.” “Where is he?” asked the widow, brightening up at the proposal. “At Cairnhope.” At this word, Mrs. Little's face betrayed a series of emotions: first confusion, then astonishment, and at last a sort of superstitious alarm. “At Cairnhope?” she faltered at last, “My son at Cairnhope?” “Pray do not torment yourself with fancies,” said the doctor. “All this is the merest accident--the simplest thing in the world. I cured Patty Dence of diphtheria, when it decimated the village. She and her family are grateful; the air of Cairnhope has a magic effect on people who live in smoke, and Martha and Jael let me send them out an invalid now and then to be reinvigorated. I took this young man there, not knowing who he was. Go to him, if you like. But, frankly, as his physician, I would rather you did not. Never do a wise thing by halves. He ought to be entirely separated from all his cares, even from yourself (who are doubtless one of them), for five or six days. He needs no other medicine but that and the fine air of Cairnhope.” “Then somebody must see him every day, and tell me. Oh! Dr. Amboyne, this is the beginning: what will the end be? I am miserable.” “My man shall ride there every day, and see him, and bring you back a letter from him.” “Your man!” said Mrs. Little, a little haughtily. Dr. Amboyne met her glance. “If there was any ground for alarm, should I not go myself every day?” said he, gravely, and even tenderly. “Forgive me,” said the widow, and gave him her hand with a sweet and womanly gesture. The main difficulty was now got over; and Dr. Amboyne was careful not to say too much, for he knew that his tongue moved among pitfalls. As Dr. Amboyne descended the stairs, the landlady held a door ajar, and peeped at him, according to a custom of such delicate-minded females as can neither restrain their curiosity nor indulge it openly. Dr. Amboyne beckoned to her, and asked for a private interview. This was promptly accorded. “Would ten guineas be of any service to you, madam?” “Eh, dear, that it would, sir. Why, my rent is just coming due.”