went down-stairs to the drawing-room, where the young ladies
waited in anxious suspense.

Emma Cavendish arose and looked at him in silent questioning.

"There is no cause for alarm, my dear Emma. Your friend will do very
well. No, you need not go up to her room. She requires absolutely
nothing but to be left to repose. You can look in on her, if you like,
just before you go to bed. That will be time enough," explained Dr.
Jones, as he took his seat at the table and took up his _Review_ again
as if nothing had happened to interrupt his reading.

Emma Cavendish breathed a sigh of relief and resumed her seat. She and
Electra read or conversed in a low voice over their magazines until the
hour of retiring.

Electra was the first to close her pamphlet, as with an undisguised
yawn, for which her school-mistress would have rebuked her, she declared
that she could not keep her eyes open a minute longer, much less read a
line, and that she was going to bed.

Dr. Jones, with as much courtesy as if he had not been her grandfather,
arose and lighted her bedroom candle and put it in her hand.

And she kissed him a drowsy good-night and went upstairs.

Emma was about to follow, when the doctor motioned her to resume her
seat.

She did so, and waited.

"I want a word with you about Mrs. Grey, my dear Emma. She is very much
out of health."

"I feared so," replied Emma Cavendish.

"Or, to speak with more literal truth, I should say that her nervous
system is very much disordered."

"Yes."

"She is full of sick fancies. She wishes to go away for a while to get a
change of scene."

"I will go with her to any watering-place she desires to visit, in the
season," said Emma Cavendish, readily.

"Yes; but, my dear, she must have this change now, immediately."

"I would go with her now if I could leave my guests. You know I have
Electra here, and Laura will return in two days perhaps, with her
brother also."

"My good child, she does not ask or need any attendance. She wants to go
away by herself for a while. She wants to go to an old lady friend in
Charlottesville."

"I have heard her lately speak of such a friend, and of her intention,
some day, to visit her."

"Well, she wishes to go now, immediately, but is afraid to mention her
desire lest it should meet with opposition, which she has no nerve to
contest."

"Dear uncle, how strange that she should feel this way! Why, she is not
a prisoner here! And if she wishe