sorry."

"Thank you," he said, bowing his head; and they each turned and went
different ways.

Dr. Brunton went home. "Is Miss Robertson still here?" he said to his
sister.

"To be sure she is: she was not speaking of going away."

"Then send her away--send her away as soon as you can."

"Indeed! Have you taken a dislike to her?"

"No, but I want to be alone, in my own house at least."

"Oh, James, has anything happened?" she said anxiously, struck by his
look and tone.

"Nothing--nothing but what has happened often before, I dare say"--and
he laughed in a way painful to his sister to hear--"to other men, and is
not much thought of; but my organization is different. Mary, I feel as
if I shall lose my reason: I am dazed;" and he burst into tears.

Mary was dazed for the moment too: in all her life she had never seen
her brother like this. The peculiar gleam in his eye was altogether new
to her: could there be truth in what he said? Was it the glitter of
insanity that shone in his eyes? But she could not admit the idea.

In a small place like Birns the frequent meeting of Lady Louisa and Dr.
Brunton had not passed unnoticed, and had, of course, been the subject
of remark, and Mary guessed what had happened, and felt sure that Lady
Louisa had been guilty of heartless thoughtlessness, to give it the
mildest name. Oh, how from her inmost heart she wished they had never
seen her, or that she had exercised her folly on some one better able to
bear the consequences of it! How to commit the inhospitality of
suggesting her friend's departure Mary did not know, but it chanced that
Miss Robertson proposed it herself, having received a letter which made
her eager to get home; and the brother and sister were left alone to do
battle with the threatened calamity.

For months Dr. Brunton struggled like a man against the dark cloud that
was settling down upon him, but at last he said, "It's all in vain,
Mary; my mind is going from me; my memory is gone already; I forget
everything, even the most important engagement; and when a man told me
of a sad death to-day I burst out laughing: I could not help it. Mary,"
he said in a kind of cowering whisper, "I know what the end will be."

"No, you don't: no one knows what the end of anything will be. We'll
leave this place, James; we'll go and travel about; we'll sell off
everything--I'll manage that--and when you are better you can begin
life again elsewhere."

"Take me away fro