The valet was a round, rosy, stout little man, with twinkling black eyes, and a meek manner. He beamed with good nature and overflowed with the milk of human kindness. An attendant with so cheerful a disposition and smiling a countenance was quite the kind of nurse needed by an invalid, as his spirits were infectious, and frequently served to arouse the somewhat melancholy Mr. Horran from dismal musings. Chalks displayed no surprise at the sight of his patient asleep again, but lifted him in his arms and placed him gently on the bed. Clarice deliberated as to whether she should tell Chalks (who was intelligent and devoted to Mr. Horran) about the missive of the purple fern; but finally decided to say nothing concerning it to anyone until she had seen Anthony. The elusive memory, which would not come back to her in its entirety, suggested that Ackworth could account for the fern in some way. "What do you think of him, Chalks?" she asked, indicating the unconscious man on the bed. "I think's he's asleep, Miss," said Chalks, innocently. "But why should he sleep again after ten hours' slumber?" "Why should he be ill at all, Miss?" was the retort of the cheerful little man, "seeing that them doctors says as his organs is healthy, and that there ain't nothing whatever the matter with him?" Miss Baird drew her white brows together in a perplexed way. "There must be some reason for his disease, Chalks." "The doctors say there's no disease, Miss." "But this sleep is unnatural." "Master's health has been unnatural for the last ten years, Miss." "What is your theory, Chalks?" "I have none, Miss. Master gets headaches and giddy fits, and weeps and gets into rages, which ain't his real nature, and he's had two fits, and now sleeps like a top for hours. This ain't what you'd call health, Miss, and yet Dr. Jerce and Dr. Wentworth have both examined him heaps of times, only to find he's all right, both inside and outside. It's a riddle, Miss, that's what it is." "What's to be done, then?" Chalks advanced briskly to the bed. "Leave Master to me, Miss, and I'll put him between the sheets. Then we must wait until Dr. Wentworth comes again, Miss." Clarice walked to the door, but cast a glance round the room, before going out. She saw that one of the French windows was open, and moved to close it. Chalks stopped her. "No, Miss, Master must have all the air he can get--Dr. Wentworth says so." "And Dr. Jerce?" Chalks beamed like a cherub. "Bless your heart, Miss, he insists on Master getting as little air as possible. When Dr. Jerce comes down, Miss, he says the window must be closed; when Dr. Wentworth turns up, he opens it straight off. They don't agree, Miss, which is hard on me, Miss." "It is perplexing," assented Clarice, laughing, "what do you do?"