d God!" he ejaculated. "She's not wandering, is she, ma'am?"

Mrs. Pryor smiled.

"I am wandering in a pleasant world," said Caroline, in a soft, happy
voice, "and I want you to tell me whether it is real or visionary. What
lady is that? Give her a name, uncle."

"We must have Dr. Rile again, ma'am; or better still, MacTurk. He's less
of a humbug. Thomas must saddle the pony and go for him."

"No; I don't want a doctor. Mamma shall be my only physician. Now, do
you understand, uncle?"

Mr. Helstone pushed up his spectacles from his nose to his forehead,
handled his snuff-box, and administered to himself a portion of the
contents. Thus fortified, he answered briefly, "I see daylight. You've
told her then, ma'am?"

"And is it _true_?" demanded Caroline, rising on her pillow. "Is she
_really_ my mother?"

"You won't cry, or make any scene, or turn hysterical, if I answer Yes?"

"Cry! I'd cry if you said _No_. It would be terrible to be disappointed
now. But give her a name. How do you call her?"

"I call this stout lady in a quaint black dress, who looks young enough
to wear much smarter raiment, if she would--I call her Agnes Helstone.
She married my brother James, and is his widow."

"And my mother?"

"What a little sceptic it is! Look at her small face, Mrs. Pryor,
scarcely larger than the palm of my hand, alive with acuteness and
eagerness." To Caroline--"She had the trouble of bringing you into the
world at any rate. Mind you show your duty to her by quickly getting
well, and repairing the waste of these cheeks.--Heigh-ho! she used to be
plump. What she has done with it all I can't, for the life of me,
divine."

"If _wishing_ to get well will help me, I shall not be long sick. This
morning I had no reason and no strength to wish it."

Fanny here tapped at the door, and said that supper was ready.

"Uncle, if you please, you may send me a little bit of supper--anything
you like, from your own plate. That is wiser than going into hysterics,
is it not?"

"It is spoken like a sage, Cary. See if I don't cater for you
judiciously. When women are sensible, and, above all, intelligible, I
can get on with them. It is only the vague, superfine sensations, and
extremely wire-drawn notions, that put me about. Let a woman ask me to
give her an edible or a wearable--be the same a roc's egg or the
breastplate of Aaron, a share of St. John's locusts and honey or the
leathern girdle about his loins--I can, at least,