urg and Belfast lay on scented herbs; and this,
permeating the room, seemed the very perfume of Beauty itself, and
intoxicated the brain. Imagination conjured pictures proper to the
scene: a goddess at her toilet; that glorious hair lying tumbled on the
pillow, and burning in contrasted color with the snowy sheets and with
the purple quilt.

From this reverie he was awakened by a soft voice that said, "How can I
ever thank you enough, sir?"

Mr. Angelo controlled himself, and said, "By sending for me whenever I
can be of the slightest use." Then, comprehending his danger, he added,
hastily, "And I fear I am none whatever now." Then he rose to go.

Lady Bassett gave him both her hands again, and this time he kissed one
of them, all in a flurry; he could not resist the temptation. Then he
hurried away, with his whole soul in a tumult. Lady Bassett blushed,
and returned to her husband's side.

Doctor Willis came, heard the case, looked rather grave and puzzled,
and wrote the inevitable prescription; for the established theory is
that man is cured by drugs alone.

Sir Charles wandered a little while the doctor was there, and continued
to wander after he was gone.

Then Mary Wells begged leave to sleep in the dressing-room.

Lady Bassett thanked her, but said she thought it unnecessary; a good
night's rest, she hoped, would make a great change in the sufferer.

Mary Wells thought otherwise, and quietly brought her little bed into
the dressing-room and laid it on the floor.

Her judgment proved right; Sir Charles was no better the next day, nor
the day after. He brooded for hours at a time, and, when he talked,
there was an incoherence in his discourse; above all, he seemed
incapable of talking long on any subject without coming back to the
fatal one of his childlessness; and, when he did return to this, it was
sure to make him either deeply dejected or else violent against Richard
Bassett and his son; he swore at them, and said they were waiting for
his shoes.

Lady Bassett's anxiety deepened; strange fears came over her. She put
subtle questions to the doctor; he returned obscure answers, and went
on prescribing medicines that had no effect.

She looked wistfully into Mary Wells's face, and there she saw her own
thoughts reflected.

"Mary," said she, one day, in a low voice, "what do they say in the
kitchen?"

"Some say one thing, some another. What can they say? They never see
him, and never shall while I