s maid, and ask her for some," said Mr. Carlyle.

"Ask her for milk," called out Dr. Martin. "Not water."

Away went William. Mr. Carlyle was leaning against the side of the
window; Dr. Martin folded his arms before it: Lady Isabel stood near the
latter. The broad, full light was cast upon all, but the thick veil hid
Lady Isabel's face. It was not often she could be caught without that
veil, for she seemed to wear her bonnet at all sorts of seasonable and
unseasonable times.

"What is your opinion, doctor?" asked Mr. Carlyle.

"Well," began the doctor, in a _very_ professional tone, "the boy is
certainly delicate. But--"

"Stay, Dr. Martin," was the interruption, spoken in a low, impressive
voice, "you will deal candidly with me. I must know the truth, without
disguise. Tell it me freely."

Dr. Martin paused. "The truth is not always palatable, Mr. Carlyle."

"True. But for that very reason, all the more necessary. Let me hear the
worst. And the child has no mother, you know, to be shocked with it."

"I fear that it will be the worst."

"Death?"

"Ay. The seeds of consumption must have been inherent in him. They are
showing out too palpably."

"Is there _no_ hope for the child?"

Dr. Martin looked at him. "You bade me give you the truth."

"Nothing else; nothing but the truth," returned Mr. Carlyle, his tone
one of mingled pain and command.

"Then, there is none; no hope whatever. The lungs are extensively
diseased."

"And how long--"

"That I cannot say," interrupted the doctor, divining what the next
question was to be. "He may linger on for months; for a year, it may
even be; or a very short period may see the termination. Don't worry him
with any more lessons and stuff of learning; he'll never want it."

The doctor cast his eyes on the governess as he spoke; the injunction
concerned her as much as it did Mr. Carlyle. And the doctor started, for
he thought she was fainting; her face had become so ghastly white; he
could see it through her veil.

"You are ill, madame! You are ill? _Trouve malade_, don't you?"

She opened her lips to speak; her trembling lips, that would not obey
her. Dr. Martin, in his concern, pulled off the blue spectacles. She
caught them from him with one hand, sat down on the nearest chair, and
hid her face with the other.

Mr. Carlyle, scarcely understanding the scuffle, came forward. "Are you
ill, Madame Vine?"

She was putting her spectacles under her veil, her face