that George Taylor would rather have been waylaid by a real ghost than by his cousin at that particular time and place, was certain; better that the whole world should detect any undue anxiety for Mr. Bell’s companionship then than Charles Taylor, at least George thought so, but conscience makes the best of us cowards, nevertheless he gave his earnest sympathy to his cousin. “Lean on me Charles, let me support you, how have you been taken sick?” another minute and the paroxysm of pain was past. Charles wiped the moisture from his brow, and George sat down on the narrow bench beside him. “How came you to be here alone, Charles. Where is your carriage?” “I ordered the carriage early and it came just as you were going away,” explained Charles. “Feeling well, I sent it away again, saying I would walk home, the pain struck me just as I reached this spot and but for the bench I should have fallen.” “But George, what brings you here?” was the next very natural question. “You told me that you was going to see Miller?” “So I was--so I did,” said George, speaking volubly. “I found him poorly, I told him that he would do better in bed and came away; it was a nice night; I felt inclined for a run, and went to Bell’s to ask what kept him away. He was sent for up at North River it seems, and sent an apology, but I did not get it. In some way or other I think it was misplaced by the servants.” Charles Taylor might well have rejoined “If Bell was away where did you stop,” but he made no remark. “Are they all gone,” asked George, alluding to his guests. “They are all gone, I made it right with them respecting your absence; my being there was almost the same thing, they appeared to regard it so. George, I believe I must have your arm as far as the house, see what an old man I am getting to be.” “Will you not rest longer, I am in no hurry as they have gone? What can this pain be that seems to be attacking you of late?” “Has it never occurred to you what it might be?” rejoined Charles. “No,” replied George, but he noticed that Charles’ tone was a peculiar one, and he began to think of all the ailments that flesh is heir to. “It cannot be rheumatism, can it Charles?” “It is something worse than rheumatism,” he said, in his serene, ever thoughtful tone. “A short time George, and you will control my share of the business.” George’s heart seemed to stand still and then bound onward in a tumult. “What do you mean, Charles; what do you think is the matter with you?” “Do you remember what killed my mother?” There was a painful pause. “Oh, Charles!” “That is it,” said Charles quietly. “I hope you are mistaken! I hope you are mistaken!” reiterated George. “Have you a physician; you must have advice!” “I have had it, Brown confirms my suspicions. I asked for the truth.” “Who is Brown,” returned George, disparagingly. “Go to London, Charles, and consult the best medical men there.”