te a dangerous young lady, destined to do great havoc in the world,
it will not do to be too sensitive on the subject. But remember, you
must not dispose of your heart without consulting me. And at any rate,
wait three years longer for your judgment to mature."

The conscious color rose to my cheek. He took my hand, and placed his
fingers on my throbbing pulse.

"Too quick, too quick," said he, looking gravely in my face. "This will
never do. When I bring the wild-cat back, I mean to carry you off. It
will do you good to stay a while with my good, methodical, unromantic
wife. I can take you round to visit my patients with me. I have a new
buggy, larger than the one in which we had such a famous ride together."

The associations connected with that ride were so sad, I wished he had
not mentioned it; yet the conversation had done me good. It kept me from
dwelling too exclusively on one engrossing subject.

"Now give me your arm," said the doctor, "and let me have the privilege
of escorting you down stairs."

As we descended, he put his arm round me, for I was weaker than he
thought I was, and my knees bent under me.

"We doctors ought not to have jealous wives, my dear, ought we? My dear,
good woman has not one particle of jealousy in her composition. She
never looks after my heart; but keeps a wonderfully sharp eye on my head
and feet. A very sensible person, Mrs. Harlowe is."

There was intentional kindness in this apparent levity. He saw I was
agitated, and wished to divert my thoughts. Perhaps he read more deeply
than I imagined, for those who seem to glance lightly on the surface of
feeling only, often penetrate to its depths.

The drawing-room was divided by folding doors, which were seldom closed,
and in the four corners of each division were crimson lounges, of
luxurious and graceful form. Company generally gathered in the front
part, but the backroom was equally pleasant, as it opened into the
flower-garden through a balcony shaded by vines.

"Come in here, and rest awhile," said the doctor, leading me into the
back parlor; "it will be a pleasant surprise to Mrs. Linwood. I did not
tell her I was going to bring you down."

As we entered, I saw Ernest Linwood half reclining on a lounge with a
book in his hand, which hung listlessly at his side. As he looked up,
his pale face lighted suddenly and brilliantly as burning gas. He rose,
threw down his book, came hastily forward, took my hand, and drawing it