‘We have hardly fixed them yet,’ said Captain Hindes. ‘We thought of staying in town for a while, just to see a few theatres and other amusements, while we look out for a country cottage to spend the summer in. But if my brother is seriously ill, I shall not dream of going far away from him.’ ‘Oh, Arthur! he is not so ill as that!’ exclaimed Hannah; ‘it is his mind that is suffering, rather than his body. He works so hard at the business, and now, of course, everything falls on his shoulders. He seldom gets to the City before noon, and, when he comes home, he is so exhausted, he cares for nothing but to go to bed.’ ‘But neuralgia is generally due to physical weakness, Hannah. The doctors always give Edie a tonic for it the first thing. Is Hal taking nothing to strengthen him?’ ‘I don’t think he takes anything but morphia when the pain becomes intolerable,’ replied Hannah; ‘but, Arthur, don’t argue with him on the subject. Nothing makes Henry so irritable as to be talked to about his health. When you see him, treat him as if you saw no difference in his appearance. He won’t let even _me_ mention the subject to him.’ ‘He must be mightily changed,’ said Captain Hindes, sighing; ‘however, I will take your advice, and keep silence on the matter. I shall call at his office the first thing to-morrow. When do you think I shall find him there?’ ‘Not before twelve, Arthur; if then. Will not you and Edith have some refreshment before you go back?’ ‘No, thank you, Hannah. We are both tired, and should not have moved out except to see you. Tell old Hal all about us when he wakes up, and say I shall be in Sise Lane early to-morrow. Good-night, my dear. I’m awfully sorry about his illness. It’s quite spoilt my coming home, but I hope I may be able to cheer him up. If it is due, as you seem to imagine, to his over-working himself, I think I shall be able to persuade him to come out a little with me, and brush the cobwebs off his brain. What need has he to ruin his health by work? He has made plenty of money, to say nothing of the handsome legacy that Mr Crampton left the son and heir. By the way, how is the prodigy? I conclude he has not left home as well as the girls.’ ‘No,’ said Hannah, with a wintry smile; he is not quite old enough for that yet. He will not be three till his next birthday. He is quite well, thank you, Arthur; but I have to keep him at the top of the house, for fear he should disturb his father.’ ‘Why, Henry was always so devoted to Master Wally. Edie and I have often laughed together over his letters about his little son, and said, surely no man had ever had a boy before. At one time he could write of nothing else.’ ‘Oh! yes, and he loves the child as much as ever, perhaps more, but he cannot stand his noise. It jars upon his nerves. Sometimes I long for the time when Wally shall be able to go too. It is a dull life for a young child to be confined to the company of his nurse.’