ld think you wouldn't," said Mrs. Drysdale, "for you have had the
nose-bleed terribly. Why, it is all over the pillow and floor, and leads
out of the door. You must have gone down stairs."

"Yes, yes," he exclaimed, hastily, "I did get up in the night. I--I
don't feel very well--I guess I will lie down again."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked his wife, anxiously.

"No, nothing at present. Just go right along with your household
affairs, as usual; I shall be all right in a short time."

Mrs. Drysdale saw that her husband was nervous and irritable, and so she
dressed quickly and went down to superintend her domestic duties. When
Mrs. Potter's breakfast was ready, she brought it up herself and stopped
a few minutes to talk.

"Do you know of any remedy for bleeding at the nose, Mrs. Potter?" she
asked. "My husband had quite a severe attack last night, and he went
down on the front veranda, and then down the gravel walk, thinking, I
suppose, that exercise would stop it. It must have bled frightfully,
for I could see marks of blood all the way down the path to the gate."

"I suppose he let it run instead of trying to stop the flow," replied
Mrs. Potter. "Some people think it is good for the health occasionally,
and so they allow the nose to bleed as long as it wants to."

After a few more remarks, Mrs. Drysdale went down stairs again. Mrs.
Potter could hear Mr. Drysdale tossing about on the bed in the next
room, muttering to himself, and occasionally speaking aloud such
expressions as--"Oh! this is horrible!"--"What does this mean?"--"My
God! what could have done it?"

After a time he became quieter, but he did not leave his room until the
afternoon. Soon after he got up, Mr. Andrews called to see him, having
failed to find him at his office.

"I thought you might be sick and so I dropped in to see you," he said.

"I am very glad you came," replied Drysdale. "I have been a little
unwell, and I need some one to cheer me up."

"Let us take a short walk," said Andrews; "the exercise will do you
good."

As they strolled out, Andrews pointed to some blood and said:

"Any one hurt in your house?"

"No--yes--that is, nothing serious; one of my negroes cut his hand this
morning," replied Drysdale, shuddering. "I can't look at blood without
feeling sick," he explained, as he saw that Andrews was wondering at his
agitation.

As they continued their walk, Andrews noticed that Drysdale was very
self-absorbed