falsity of mesmerism—the impossibility of
clairvoyance."

"No, my strong intellect did nothing of the
kind. I do not know whether mesmerism be
false or clairvoyance impossible; and I don't
wish to know. All I do know is, that I saw the
Hill in great danger; young ladies allowing
themselves to be put to sleep by gentlemen, and
pretending they had no will of their own against
such fascination! Improper and shocking! And
Miss Brabazon beginning to prophesy, and Mrs.
Leopold Smythe questioning her maid (whom
Dr. Lloyd declared to be highly gifted) as to all
the secrets of her friends. When I saw this, I
said, 'The Hill is becoming demoralised; the Hill
is making itself ridiculous; the Hill must be
saved!' I remonstrated wiih Dr. Lloyd, as a
friend; he remained obdurate. I annihilated
him as an enemy, not to me, but to the State.
I slew my best lover for the good of Rome.
Now you know why I took your part; not
because I have any opinion one way or the other
as to the truth or falsehood of what Dr. Lloyd
asserted; but I have a strong opinion that
whether they be true or false, his notions were
those which are not to be allowed on the Hill.
And so, Allen Fenwick, that matter was
settled."

Perhaps at another time I might have felt
some little humiliation to learn that I had been
honoured with the influence of this great potentate,
not as a champion of truth, but as an instrument
of policy, and I might have owned to some
twinge of conscience in having assisted to sacrifice
a fellow-seeker after science—misled, no doubt,
but preferring his independent belief to his
worldly interest—and sacrifice him to those
deities with whom science is ever at war—the
Prejudices of a Clique sanctified into the
Proprieties of the World. But at that moment the
words I heard made no perceptible impression
on my mind. The gables of Abbots' House
were visible above the evergreens and lilacs:
another moment, and the carriage stopped at
the door.

CHAPTER XIV.

MRS. ASHLEIGH received us in the dining-
room. Her manner to me, at first, was a little
confused and shy. But my companion soon
communicated something of her own happy ease
to her gentler friend. After a short conversation
we all three went to Lilian, who was in a little
room on the ground floor, fitted up as her study.
I was glad to perceive that my interdict of the
death-chamber had been respected.

She reclined on a sofa near the window,
which was, however, jealously closed; the light
of the bright May day obscured by blinds and
curtains; a large fire on the hearth; the air of
the room that of a hothouse—the ignorant,
insensible exploded system of nursing into
consumption those who are confined on suspicion
of it. She did not heed us as we entered
noiselessly; her eyes were drooped languidly on the
floor, and with difficulty I suppressed the
exclamation that rose to my lips on seeing her.
She seemed within the last few days so changed,
and on the aspect of the countenance there was
so profound a melancholy. But as she slowly
turned at the sound of our footsteps, and her
eyes met mine, a quick blush came into the wan
cheek, and she half rose, but sank back as if
the effect exhausted her. There was a struggle
for breath, and a low hollow cough. Was it
possible that I had been mistaken, and that in
that cough was heard the warning knell of the
most insidious enemy to youthful life?

I sat down by her side. I lured her on to talk
of indifferent subjects—the weather, the gardens,
the bird in the cage, which was placed on the
table near her. Her voice, at first low and
feeble, became gradually stronger, and her face
lighted up with a child's innocent playful
smile. No, I had not been mistaken! That
was no lymphatic nerveless temperament on
which consumption fastens as its lawful prey—
here there was no hectic pulse, no hurried waste
of the vital flame. Quietly and gently I made my
observations, addressed my questions, applied
my stethoscope; and when I turned my face
towards her mother's anxious, eager eyes,
that face spoke for me, for her mother sprang
forward, clasped my hand, and said, through her
struggling tears,

"You smile! You see nothing to fear?"

"Fear—no, indeed! You will soon be again
yourself, Miss Ashleigh, will you not i"'

"Yes," she said, with her sweet laugh, " I
shall be well now very soon. But may I not
have the window open—may I not go into the
garden? I so long for fresh air."

"No, no, darling," exclaimed Mrs. Ashleigh,
"not while the east winds last. Dr. Jones said
on no account. On no account, Dr. Fenwick,
eh?"

"Will you take my arm, Miss Ashleigh, and
walk about the room?" said I. " We will
then see how far we may rebel against Dr.
Jones."

She rose with some little effort, but there was
no cough. At first her step was languid—it
became lighter and more elastic after a few
moments.

"Let her come out," said I to Mrs. Ashleigh.
"The wind is not in the east, and, while we are
out, pray bid your servant lower to the last bar
in the grate that fire—only fit for Christmas."

"But——"

"Ah, no buts. He is a poor doctor who is
not a stern despot."

So the straw hat and mantle were sent for.
Lilian was wrapped with unnecessary care, and
we all went forth into the garden.  Involuntarily
we took the way to the Monk's Well, and at
every step Lilian seemed to revive under the
bracing air and temperate sun. We paused by
the Well.

"You do not feel fatigued, Miss Ashleigh?"

"No."

"But your face seems changed. It is grown
sadder."

"Not sadder."

"Sadder than when I first saw it—saw it