repose. All her servants adored Mrs. Ashleigh;
all found it a pleasure to please her; her
establishment had the harmony of clockwork;
comfort diffused itself round her like quiet
sunshine round a sheltered spot. To gaze on her
pleasing countenance, to listen to the simple
talk that lapsed from her guileless lips in even,
slow, and lulling murmur, was in itself a respite
from "eating cares." She was to the mind
what the colour of green is to the eye. She
had, therefore, excellent sense in all that relates
to every-day life. There, she needed not to
consult another; there, the wisest might have
consulted her with profit. But the moment
anything, however trivial in itself, jarred on
the routine to which her mind had grown
wedded; the moment an incident hurried her
out of the beaten track of woman's daily life,
then her confidence forsook her; then she
needed a confidant, an adviser, and by that
confidant or adviser she could be credulously lured
or submissively controlled. Therefore, when
she lost, in Mr. Vigors, the guide she had been
accustomed to consult whenever she needed
guidance, she turned, helplessly and piteously,
first to Mrs. Poyntz, and then yet more imploringly
to me, because a woman of that character
is never quite satisfied without the advice of a
man. And where an intimacy more familiar than
that of his formal visits is once established
with a physician, confidence in him grows fearless
and rapid, as the natural result of sympathy
concentred on an object of anxiety in common
between himself and the home which opens its
sacred recess to his observant but tender eye.
Thus Mrs. Ashleigh had shown me Mr. Vigors's
letter, and forgetting that I might not be as
amiable as herself, besought me to counsel her
how to conciliate and soften her lost husband's
friend and connexion. That character clothed
him with dignity and awe in her soft forgiving
eyes. So, smothering my own resentment, less
perhaps at the tone of offensive insinuation
against myself than at the arrogance with which
this prejudiced intermeddler implied to a mother
the necessity of his guardian watch over a
child under her own care, I sketched a reply
which seemed to me both dignified and placatory,
abstaining from all discussion, and
conveying the assurance that Mrs. Ashleigh would
be at all times glad to hear, and disposed to
respect, whatever suggestion so esteemed a friend
of her husband's would kindly submit to her
for the welfare of her daughter.

There all communication had stopped for about
a month since the date of my reintroduction to
Abbots' House. One afternoon I unexpectedly
met Mr. Vigors at the entrance of the blind
lane, I on my way to Abbots' House, and my
first glance at his face told me that he was
coming from it, for the expression of that face
was more than usually sinister; the sullen
scowl was lit into significant menace by a sneer
of unmistakable triumph. I felt at once that
he had succeeded in some machination against
me, and with ominous misgivings quickened my
steps.

I found Mrs. Ashleigh seated alone in front
of the House, under a large cedar-tree that
formed a natural arbour in the centre of the
sunny lawn. She was perceptibly embarrassed
as I took my seat beside her.

"I hope," said I, forcing a smile, "that Mr.
Vigors has not been telling you that I shall kill
my patient, or that she looks much worse than
she did under Dr. Jones's care?"

"No," she said. "He owned cheerfully that
Lilian had grown quite strong, and said, without
any displeasure, that he had heard how gay
she had been; riding out and even dancing—
which is very kind in him—for he disapproves
of dancing,—on principle."

"But still, I can see he has said something to
vex or annoy you; and, to judge by his countenance
when I met him in the lane, I should
conjecture that that something was intended to lower
the confidence you so kindly repose in me."

"I assure you not; he did not mention your
name, either to me or to Lilian. I never knew
him more friendly; quite like old times. He is
a good man at heart, very; and was much
attached to my poor husband."

"Did Mr. Ashleigh profess a very high opinion
of Mr. Vigors?"

"Well, I don't quite know that, because my
dear Gilbert never spoke to me much about him.
Gilbert was naturally very silent. But he shrank
from all trouble—all worldly affairs—and Mr.
Vigors managed his estate, and inspected his
steward's books, and protected him through a
long lawsuit which he had inherited from his
father. It killed his father. I don't know what
we should have done without Mr. Vigors, and
I am so glad he has forgiven me."

"Hem! Where is Miss Ashleigh?
Indoors?"

"No; somewhere in the grounds. But, my
dear Dr. Fenwick, do not leave me yet; you are
so very, very kind; and somehow I have grown
to look upon you quite as an old friend.
Something has happened which has put me out—quite
put me out."

She said this wearily and feebly, closing her
eyes as if she were indeed put out in the sense
of extinguished.

"The feeling of friendship you express," said
I, with earnestness, "is reciprocal. On my side
it is accompanied by a peculiar gratitude. I
am a lonely man, by a lonely fireside—no parents,
no near kindred, and in this town, since Dr. Faber
left it, without cordial intimacy till I knew you.
In admitting me so familiarly to your hearth, you
have given me what I have never known before
since I came to man's estate: a glimpse of the
happy domestic life; the charm and relief to eye,
heart, and spirit which is never known but in
households cheered by the face of woman; thus
my sentiment for you and yours is indeed that
of an old friend; and in any private confidence
you show me, I feel as if I were no longer a
lonely man, without kindred, without home."

Mrs. Ashleigh seemed much moved by these
words, which my heart had forced from my lips,
and, after replying to me with simple unaffected