"A case for _phosphor_!" cried the passenger; "that fool Browne would have said _arsenic_. Don't be persuaded to take arsenic." "Arsenic, sir!" echoed the mild Digby. "No; however unfortunate a man may be, I think, sir, that suicide is--tempting, perhaps, but highly criminal." "Suicide," said the passenger tranquilly--"suicide is my hobby! You have no symptom of that kind, you say?" "Good heavens! No, sir." "If ever you feel violently impelled to drown yourself, take _pulsatilla_. But if you feel a preference towards blowing out your brains, accompanied with weight in the limbs, loss of appetite, dry cough, and bad corns--_sulphuret of antimony_. Don't forget." Though poor Mr. Digby confusedly thought that the gentleman was out of his mind, yet he tried politely to say "that he was much obliged, and would be sure to remember;" but his tongue failed him, and his own ideas grew perplexed. His head fell back heavily, and he sank into a silence which seemed that of sleep. The traveller looked hard at Helen, as she gently drew her father's head on her shoulder, and there pillowed it with a tenderness which was more that of mother than child. "Moral affections--soft--compassionate!--a good child and would go well with--_pulsatilla_." Helen held up her finger, and glanced from her father to the traveller, and then to her father again. "Certainly--_pulsatilla_!" muttered the homoeopathist: and, esconcing himself in his own corner, he also sought to sleep. But, after vain efforts, accompanied by restless gestures and movements, he suddenly started up, and again extracted his phial-book. "What the deuce are they to me!" he muttered; "morbid sensibility of character--_coffee_? No!--accompanied by vivacity and violence--_Nux_!" He brought his book to the window, contrived to read the label on a pigmy bottle. "_Nux!_ that's it," he said--and he swallowed a globule! "Now," quoth he, after a pause, "I don't care a straw for the misfortunes of other people--nay, I have half a mind to let down the window." Helen looked up. "But I won't," he added resolutely; and this time he fell fairly asleep. CHAPTER XII. The coach stopped at eleven o'clock, to allow the passengers to sup. The homoeopathist woke up, got out, gave himself a shake, and inhaled the fresh air into his vigorous lungs with an evident sensation of delight. He then turned and looked into the coach. "Let your father get out, my dear," said he, with a tone more gentle than usual. "I should like to see him in-doors--perhaps I can do him good." But what was Helen's terror when she found that her father did not stir. He was in a deep swoon, and still quite insensible when they lifted him from the carriage. When he recovered his senses, his cough returned, and the effort brought up blood.