hat the ailment was some sort of
rheumatism, and I am now undergoing proper treatment for its cure. My
leg and foot have been placed in hot bran, liniments have been applied,
and also severe friction with a pad. He says I shall be as right as ever
in a very short time. Directly I am I shall run up by the train to see
you. Don't trouble to come to me if Miss Aldclyffe grumbles again about
your being away, for I am going on capitally.... You shall hear again at
the end of the week.'

At the time mentioned came the following:--

'I am sorry to tell you, because I know it will be so disheartening
after my last letter, that I am not so well as I was then, and that
there has been a sort of hitch in the proceedings. After I had been
treated for rheumatism a few days longer (in which treatment they
pricked the place with a long needle several times,) I saw that Dr.
Chestman was in doubt about something, and I requested that he would
call in a brother professional man to see me as well. They consulted
together and then told me that rheumatism was not the disease after all,
but erysipelas. They then began treating it differently, as became a
different matter. Blisters, flour, and starch, seem to be the order of
the day now--medicine, of course, besides.

'Mr. Gradfield has been in to inquire about me. He says he has been
obliged to get a designer in my place, which grieves me very much,
though, of course, it could not be avoided.'

A month passed away; throughout this period, Cytherea visited him
as often as the limited time at her command would allow, and wore as
cheerful a countenance as the womanly determination to do nothing which
might depress him could enable her to wear. Another letter from him then
told her these additional facts:--

'The doctors find they are again on the wrong tack. They cannot make out
what the disease is. O Cytherea! how I wish they knew! This suspense is
wearing me out. Could not Miss Aldclyffe spare you for a day? Do come to
me. We will talk about the best course then. I am sorry to complain, but
I am worn out.'

Cytherea went to Miss Aldclyffe, and told her of the melancholy turn her
brother's illness had taken. Miss Aldclyffe at once said that Cytherea
might go, and offered to do anything to assist her which lay in her
power. Cytherea's eyes beamed gratitude as she turned to leave the room,
and hasten to the station.

'O, Cytherea,' said Miss Aldclyffe, calling her back; 'just on