"Wait a few years!" he exclaimed, impatiently, "when every minute spent away from _her_ appears a century! It's very plain _you_ are not in love." "In the meantime," I said, "content yourself with a life of flesh like any other rational mortal." He began to reflect upon my words, so I thought I would improve the opportunity, and, if possible, try and make him turn human, so I observed, "I shall not be here to-morrow; I am going to visit Miss Edith. Shall I take her any message?" "Oh, yes, doctor, certainly, by all means; that is, I'll write. Give me some paper, pen and ink." Having handed him these materials, he sat up in bed and penned an epistle to his lady-love in the flesh, which he sealed and handed to me. I assured him of its safety in my hands, and took my leave of him for some days, hoping to find him more reconciled to humanity on my return. Having given the parents of Charles further instructions with regard to their son, I took my departure, and shortly afterwards taking the stage, was _en route_ for my friend's country seat, where I arrived early the next morning. "And how is our patient?" I asked, as I shook hands with my friend at the threshold. "I fancy she sleeps sounder, doctor," he replied. "We are not so often disturbed by her talking in her sleep." "Good," said I; "her nerves will be getting a little stronger. Can I see her?" "Oh, yes; walk straight to her room." As I entered, my patient was sitting up in bed, reading. "Ah!" said I, after the customary salutations, "we are better this morning, eh?" "Oh, doctor, is that you? I am glad you have come." "What book is that?" I asked, at the same time looking at the title. "Ah! Shakespeare. That is Charles' favourite author." "I know it, doctor. Oh, how often have we read it together; but now, alas!" "Why alas?" asked I. "Ah, doctor," she replied, shaking her head slowly, "I never see him now. You are curing him, and me, too. Of what value to me is a body in perfect health, when it imprisons within it a wounded soul?" "Come, let me see if I can't bring some balm to the wounded soul," I said, producing from my pocket Charles' letter. "From him?" she exclaimed. "Oh, doctor, I shall be for ever grateful to you. I dreamt I received a letter from him last night. How is he--better? Stay, let me read." She tore open the letter and read in an undertone, just loud enough for me to hear: