solemn and said:

"Oh, no."

By this time they had reached the house, and Mr. Seymour was tiptoeing
about, getting out one remedy after another for his prostrate wife,
who feebly assured him she was better. By the time he had given her
smelling salts, a little port, a whiff of ammonia, some soda and
water, a smell of camphor, and had bathed her forehead in Florida
water, alcohol, witch-hazel, and rubbed it with camphor ice and a
menthol pencil, the case began to look really serious, and Hilda was
honestly ill.

She lay on the divan, perspiring and uncomfortable, uneasy in
conscience and timorous as to results, until near evening, when her
husband, with many a misgiving, took her away in a carriage--not to
the Adirondacks.

Nannie watched until they were out of sight, and when she turned she
saw Steve coming, and in her swift way contrasted him with DeLancy
Seymour.

That evening after dinner, without a word of explanation to her
husband, Nannie walked off to the house of her cousin, Mr. Misfit.
Now, Steve was by this time somewhat accustomed to her eccentric ways
and seldom questioned them, nor did he realize that they were
eccentric. He had grown up knowing very little of women and regarding
them as a peculiar class, which no doubt they are. Indeed, his rural
experiences, not only with his wife, but also with the hens and with
Sarah Maria, had tended toward the inclusion of the entire sex under
the head incomprehensible, and he was inclined to treat them like
difficult words, which we point at from a distance without attempting
to grapple.

He might have maintained this let-alone attitude indefinitely but for
a growing sense of the total depravity of vegetable sins and a
realization of his miserable insufficiency as a combatant. Naturally,
in looking about him for assistance he thought of her who should be
his help-meet, and mentally began to question her continual absence
from home. This evening he was feeling a little more tired than usual,
and an ill-selected luncheon in town had depressed him. When he found
that the weeds were likely to overpower him he arose and decided that
Nannie must be called upon. She was not at home, but he could fetch
her. To be sure that might not be easy, but Steve was now fully
roused. Prolonged warfare had developed in his nature a trace of
pugilism hitherto unsuspected by his nearest friend. Every man has
more or less of the warrior within him. It may be asleep, but it is
th