could see Mr.
Germaine. 'Whoever he is,' she says, 'he has risked his life to save me,
and I ought to thank him for doing that.' 'You can't thank him tonight,'
I said; 'I've got him upstairs between life and death, and I've sent
for his mother: wait till to-morrow.' She turned on me, looking half
frightened, half angry. 'I can't wait,' she says; 'you don't know what
you have done among you in bringing me back to life. I must leave this
neighborhood; I must be out of Perthshire to-morrow: when does the first
coach southward pass this way?' Having nothing to do with the first
coach southward, I referred her to the people of the inn. My business
(now I had done with the lady) was upstairs in this room, to see how you
were getting on. You were getting on as well as I could wish, and your
mother was at your bedside. I went home to see what sick people might be
waiting for me in the regular way. When I came back this morning, there
was the foolish landlady with a new tale to tell 'Gone!' says she.
'Who's gone?' says I. 'The lady,' says she, 'by the first coach this
morning!'"

"You don't mean to tell me that she has left the house?" I exclaimed.

"Oh, but I do!" said the doctor, as positively as ever. "Ask madam your
mother here, and she'll certify it to your heart's content. I've got
other sick ones to visit, and I'm away on my rounds. You'll see no more
of the lady; and so much the better, I'm thinking. In two hours' time
I'll be back again; and if I don't find you the worse in the interim,
I'll see about having you transported from this strange place to the
snug bed that knows you at home. Don't let him talk, ma'am, don't let
him talk."

With those parting words, Mr. MacGlue left us to ourselves.

"Is it really true?" I said to my mother. "Has she left the inn, without
waiting to see me?"

"Nobody could stop her, George," my mother answered. "The lady left the
inn this morning by the coach for Edinburgh."

I was bitterly disappointed. Yes: "bitterly" is the word--though she
_was_ a stranger to me.

"Did you see her yourself?" I asked.

"I saw her for a few minutes, my dear, on my way up to your room."

"What did she say?"

"She begged me to make her excuses to you. She said, 'Tell Mr. Germaine
that my situation is dreadful; no human creature can help me. I must
go away. My old life is as much at an end as if your son had left me to
drown in the river. I must find a new life for myself, in a new place.
Ask Mr.