You
have no symptom of that kind, you say?"

"Good heavens! No, sir."

"If ever you feel violently impelled to drown yourself, take pulsatilla;
but if you feel a preference towards blowing out your brains,
accompanied with weight in the limbs, loss of appetite, dry cough, and
bad corns, sulphuret of antimony. Don't forget."

Though poor Mr. Digby confusedly thought that the gentleman was out of
his mind, yet he tried politely to say "that he was much obliged, and
would be sure to remember;" but his tongue failed him, and his own ideas
grew perplexed. His head fell back heavily, and he sank into a silence
which seemed that of sleep.

The traveller looked hard at Helen, as she gently drew her father's head
on her shoulder, and there pillowed it with a tenderness which was more
that of a mother than child.

"Moral affections, soft, compassionate!--a good child and would go well
with--pulsatilla."

Helen held up her finger, and glanced from her father to the traveller,
and then to her father again.

"Certainly,--pulsatilla!" muttered the homoeopathist, and ensconcing
himself in his own corner, he also sought to sleep. But after vain
efforts, accompanied by restless gestures and movements, he suddenly
started up, and again extracted his phial-book.

"What the deuce are they to me?" he muttered. "Morbid sensibility of
character--coffee? No!--accompanied by vivacity and violence--nux!" He
brought his book to the window, contrived to read the label on a pigmy
bottle. "Nux! that's it," he said,--and he swallowed a globule!

"Now," quoth he, after a pause, "I don't care a straw for the
misfortunes of other people; nay, I have half a mind to let down the
window."

Helen looked up.

"But I'll not," he added resolutely; and this time he fell fairly
asleep.

CHAPTER XII.

The coach stopped at eleven o'clock to allow the passengers to sup. The
homoeopathist woke up, got out, gave himself a shake, and inhaled the
fresh air into his vigorous lungs with an evident sensation of delight.
He then turned and looked into the coach.

"Let your father get out, my dear," said he, with a tone more gentle
than usual. "I should like to see him indoors,--perhaps I can do him
good."

But what was Helen's terror when she found that her father did not stir!
He was in a deep swoon, and still quite insensible when they lifted him
from the carriage. When he recovered his senses his cough returned, and
the effort brought up bloo