"You! I should say that your imagination deluded you, that your present ill state of health is sufficient to account for any freak of the brain, however eccentric." "Deluded mortal," he muttered. "Alas! by what circuitous paths do men persistently seek for error, when the high road of Truth lies ever before their eyes." We discoursed upon various other topics, and I took my leave of Charles, leaving instructions with his parents concerning the treatment of their son, as I should not be able to call again for some days. I had to attend a young lady in the country, the adopted daughter of a very old friend of mine. I could not refuse to go, so I started next day by the mail. Charles' conversation had impressed me deeply, and I meditated upon it as I sat perched up outside the stage-coach. I was sorry to leave him, for I had already felt quite an affection for him, independently of the interest I took in his case. And who was this young lady that I was called upon to visit in such a hurry? I had never seen her, but for the sake of my friend who had benefited me in so many ways in the commencement of my career, I could not do otherwise than leave town for a short time. I tried to picture to myself my new patient--some bread-and-butter girl with the mumps, hysteria, whooping-cough, or chicken-pox. The picture I mentally drew of my lady patient was not sentimental; but, the fact was, I was irritated at being obliged to leave such an interesting case as that in which I was engaged. During the course of my drive I entered into conversation with the driver. I asked him if he knew Squire L----. He replied in the affirmative. "Let me see," said I, pretending not to know the squire over well, in order to draw him out, "the squire has no family, I think?" "None of his own, sir. He has one adopted daughter, a foundling, found somewhere near Stratford-on-Avon. The squire has adopted her ever since, and----" "What age is the young lady?" "Well, sir, she must now be hard upon four-and-twenty, though she did not look it last time I saw her." "As old as that!" I exclaimed. "Then she will be getting married soon, I suppose?" "Not she, sir." "Why not?" I asked. "Isn't she personally attractive?" "Oh, I believe you, sir," said the coachman, enthusiastically, and turning up his eyes. "There is not a face in the whole place for miles round that can hold a candle to her." "Indeed!" I exclaimed. "The squire is rich, too, as I hear, and I suppose she will be his heiress. What is your reason for believing that she will not marry?" "Why, sir, she has such ill health; she never leaves the house. Folks say as how she will never recover." "Indeed, and how long has she been thus?" "About a year ago she was first seized; since then I have not seen her. When I last saw her wasn't she a beauty, neither!" "I suppose this illness will have pulled her down a little. By the by, what is the nature of her complaint?"