e it to be necessary
and felt that there was something unpleasant in this medical intrusion
upon a life which had been one of unbroken health. To her husband's
annoyance she begged him to wait, and on one pretext or another put off
the consultation--it would do in a week, or 'she was better.' Her
postponement and lack of decision added to the Squire's distress, but it
was mid-June before she finally yielded and without a word to Penhallow
wrote to ask McGregor to call.

In a week Leila would be at Grey Pine. The glad prospect of a summer's
leisure filled John with happy anticipations. He had his boat put in
order, looked after Lucy's condition, and had in mind a dozen plans for
distant long-desired rides into the mountains, rides which now his uncle
had promised to take with them. He soon learned that the medical
providence which so often interferes with our plans in life had to be
considered.

Mrs. Penhallow to John's surprise had of late gone to bed long before her
accustomed hour, and one evening in this June of 1857 Penhallow seeing
her go upstairs at nine o'clock called John into the library.

"Mr. Rivers," he said, "has gone to see some one in Westways, and I have
a chance to talk to you. Sit down."

John obeyed, missing half consciously the ever-ready smile of the Squire.

"I am troubled about your aunt. Dr. McGregor assures me that she has no
distinct ailment, but is simply so tired that she is sure to become ill
if she stays at home. No one can make her lessen her work if she stays
here. You are young, but you must have been aware of what she does for
this town and at the mills--oh, for every one who is in need or in
trouble. There is the every-day routine of the house, the sick in the
village, the sewing class, the Sunday afternoon reading in the small
hospital at our mills, letters--no end of them. How she has stood it so
long, I cannot see."

"But she seems to like it, sir," said John. He couldn't understand that
what was so plainly enjoyed could be hurtful.

"Yes, she likes it, but--well, she has a heavenly soul in an earthly
body, and now at last the body is in revolt against overuse, or that at
least is the way McGregor puts it. I ought to have stopped it long ago."
John was faintly amused at the idea of any one controlling Ann Penhallow
where her despotic beliefs concerning duties were concerned.

The Squire was silent for a little while, and then said, "It has got to
stop, John. I have talked t