lately for yourself. You
have been struggling manfully, my little girl. Now, I am going for
recreation to Magara, and the Northern cities, for a few weeks, next
month, and I want you to go with me, in aid of this effort of yours.
Quite alone, with Charity as sole attendant. My niece will be with me--a
good, quiet girl, you know, some years older than yourself, and also in
feeble health; and I will see that you are both well taken care of,
medically at least, while you are absent. How would you like this,
Miriam," patting my shoulder, "just for a change?"

"Oh, very much!" I said, eagerly. "Yes, I will go gladly, in this quiet
way, for I do not wish to visit gay places, or to make strange
acquaintance, under the circumstances. My deep mourning must be
respected, you know, and--" I hesitated; looked in his kind,
sympathizing face; then hid mine on his shoulder--weeping. The first
tears of relief I had shed for months.

He did not check me, for he knew full well the value of this outlet of
feeling, to one situated as I was, physically as well as mentally.

"I would offer to take Mabel," he added, after a time, "were I not
solemnly convinced that it would be better for you both that she should
stay here. Mrs. Austin seems necessary to her very existence; and that
old woman is your vampire, I verily believe."

"No, no, she is very good, indeed. You are mistaken."

"No, I am not mistaken. There are persons who do sack away,
unconsciously, the very life of others, from some peculiarity of
organization in both. I have strong faith in this theory. I have been
obliged sometimes to decree the separation of wife and husband for a
time, to save the life of one or the other; of mother and child even.
Every time you fall ill, I believe Mrs. Austin gains strength and energy
at your expense. She absorbs your nervous fluid. It was from this
conviction that I requested you two years ago to change your room,
which, until then, she had shared on the pretence of your necessities,
and to substitute a younger and less sponge-like attendant. You remember
the stress I laid on this?"

"Yes, yes, one of your crotchets, dear doctor, nothing else. You are
full of such vagaries--always were--but there is not another such dear
old willful physician in Christendom for all that."

"Little flatterer! But here is a piece of cassava bread, I brought you,
as you thought you would like to taste it. My old West Indian patient
keeps me well supplied. I