him, "My malady is on the mind; it is a breaking
heart, and therefore no doctor of physic could serve me." That would
never do. She had sat with her hand across her face, between her
spectacles and her wrapped-up chin. Had Mr. Carlyle possessed the eyes
of Argus, backed by Sam Weller's patent magnifying microscopes of double
hextra power, he could not have made anything of her features in the
broad light of day. But _she_ did not feel so sure of it. There was
always an undefined terror of discovery when in his presence, and she
wished the interview at an end.

"I will see Mr. Wainwright, if it will be any satisfaction to you, sir."

"Madame Vine, I have intruded upon you here to say that you _must_ see
him, and, should he deem it necessary, Dr. Martin also."

"Oh, sir," she rejoined with a curious smile, "Mr. Wainwright will be
quite sufficient. There will be no need of another. I will write a note
to him to-morrow."

"Spare yourself the trouble. I am going into West Lynne, and will send
him up. You will permit me to urge that you spare no pains or care, that
you suffer my servants to spare no pains or care, to re-establish your
health. Mrs. Carlyle tells me that the question of your leaving remains
in abeyance until her return."

"Pardon me, sir. The understanding with Mrs. Carlyle was that I should
remain here until her return, and should then be at liberty at once to
leave."

"Exactly. That is what Mrs. Carlyle said. But I must express a hope that
by that time you may be feeling so much better as to reconsider your
decision and continue with us. For my daughter's sake, Madame Vine, I
trust it will be so."

He rose as he spoke, and held out his hand. What could she do but rise
also, drop hers from her face, and give it him in answer? He retained
it, clasping it warmly.

"How should I repay you--how thank you for your love to my poor, lost
boy?"

His earnest, tender eyes were on her blue double spectacles; a sad
smile mingled with the sweet expression of his lips as he bent toward
her--lips that had once been hers! A faint exclamation of despair, a
vivid glow of hot crimson, and she caught up her new black silk apron so
deeply bordered with crape, in her disengaged hand, and flung it up to
her face. He mistook the sound--mistook the action.

"Do not grieve for him. He is at rest. Thank you--thank you greatly for
your sympathy."

Another wring of her hand, and Mr. Carlyle had quitted the room. She
laid he