"No, no, dear," she said tenderly; and the poor fellow uttered a low sigh, and remained with his eyes closed, as the doctor softly left the room, beckoning to Aunt Sophia to follow him. "I'm going to get a prescription made up," he said. "I'll send off the groom on one of the horses; there will be a place open in the town by the time he gets there." "Stop a moment," said Aunt Sophia, clutching at his arm. "Tell me what, this means. Why is he like this?" "Oh, it is only the reaction--the shock to his nerves. Poor fellow!" he muttered to himself, "he has been face to face with death." "Doctor Scales," said Aunt Sophia, with her hand tightening upon his arm--"shock to his nerves! He is not going to be like that patient of yours you spoke of the other day?" The sun was up, and streaming in upon them where they stood in the plant-bedecked hall, and it seemed as if its light had sent a flash into the soul of John Scales, M.D., as he gazed sharply into his querist's eyes and then shuddered. For in these moments he seemed to see the owner of that delightful English home, him who, but a few hours before, had been all that was perfect in manly vigour and mental strength, changed into a stricken, nerveless, helpless man, clinging to his wife in the extremity of his child-like dread. For the time being he could not speak, then struggling against the spell that seemed to hold him fast, he cried angrily-- "No, no! Absurd, absurd! Only a few hours' rest, and he'll be himself." He hurried into the study, and hastily wrote his prescription, taking it out directly to where the groom was just unfastening the stable-doors. "Ride over to the town, sir? Yes, sir.--But, beg pardon, sir--Sir James, sir? Is he all right?" "Oh, getting over it nicely, my man. Be quick." "I'll be off in five minutes, sir," cried the groom; and within the specified time the horse's hoofs were clattering over the stable-yard as the man rode off. "Like my patient of whom I spoke!" said the doctor to himself. "Oh, it would be too horrible! Bah! What an idiot I am, thinking like that weak old lady there. What nonsense, to be sure!" But as he re-entered the room softly, and saw the shrinking, horror-stricken look with which at the very slight sound he made his friend started up, he asked himself whether it was possible that such a terrible change could have taken place, and the more he tried to drive the thought away the stronger it seemed to grow, shadowing him like some black mental cloud till he hardly dared to meet the young wife's questioning eyes, as she besought him silently to help her in this time of need. Volume 1, Chapter XIII. AFTER THE MISHAP.