him from her until she was well again; and
then ran down-stairs to send for the doctor.
The doctor came, and pronounced that Mrs.
Carling was only suffering from a nervous
attack; that there was not the least reason
to be alarmed; and that, with proper care,
she would be well again in a few days.

Both husband and wife had a dinner-
engagement in the town for that evening.
Mr. Carling proposed to write an apology,
and to remain with his wife. But she would
not hear of his abandoning the party on her
account. The doctor also recommended that
his patient should be left to her maid's care,
to fall asleep under the influence of the
quieting medicine which he meant to give
her. Yielding to this advice, Mr. Carling
did his best to suppress his own anxieties,
and went to the dinner-party.

Among the guests whom he met, was a
gentleman named Rambert—a single man of
large fortune, well-known in the neighbourhood
of Penliddy as the owner of a noble
country-seat and the possessor of a
magnificent library. Mr. Rambert (with whom
Mr. Carling was well acquainted) greeted
him at the dinner-party with friendly
expressions of regret at the time that had
elapsed since they had last seen each other;
and mentioned that he had recently been
adding to his collection of books some rare
old volumes of theology, which he thought
the rector might find it useful to look over.
Mr. Carling, with the necessity of finishing
his pamphlet uppermost in his mind, replied
jestingly, that the species of literature which
he was just then most interested in examining
happened to be precisely of the sort
which (excepting novels, perhaps,) had least
affinity to theological writing. The necessary
explanation followed this avowal, as a
matter of course; and, to Mr. Carling's great
delight, his friend turned on him gaily
with the most surprising and satisfactory of
answers:—

"You don't know half the resources of my
miles of bookshelves," he said, "or you would
never have thought of going to London for
what you can get from me. A whole side of
one of my rooms up-stairs is devoted to
periodical literature. I have reviews,
magazines, and three weekly newspapers, bound,
in each case, from the first number; and,
what is just now more to your purpose, I
have the Times, for the last fifteen years,
in huge half-yearly volumes. Give me
the date to-night, and you shall have the
volume you want by two o'clock to-morrow
afternoon."

The necessary information was given at
once; and, with a great sense of relief, so far
as his literary anxieties were concerned, Mr.
Carling went home early to see what the
quieting medicine had done for his wife.

She had dozed a little; but had not slept.
However, she was evidently better; for she
was able to take an interest in the sayings
and doings at the dinner-party; and
questioned her husband about the guests and the
conversation, with all a woman's curiosity
about the minutest matters. She lay with her
face turned towards him, and her eyes meeting
his, until the course of her inquiries drew an
answer from him, which informed her of his
fortunate discovery in relation to Mr.
Rambert's library, and of the prospect it afforded
of his resuming his labours the next day.
When he mentioned this circumstance, she
suddenly turned her head on the pillow, so
that her face was hidden from him; and he
could see through the counterpane that the
shivering, which he had observed when her
illness had seized her in the morning, had
returned again.

"I am only cold," she said, in a hurried
way, with her face under the clothes.

He rang for the maid, and had a fresh
covering placed on the bed. Observing that
she seemed unwilling to be disturbed, he did
not remove the clothes from her face when he
wished her good-night; but pressed his lips
on her head, and patted it gently with his
hand. She shrank at the touch, as if it
had hurt her, light as it was; and he went
down-stairs, resolved to send for the doctor
again, if she did not get to rest on being
left quiet. In less than half-an-hour
afterwards, the maid came down, and relieved
his anxiety by reporting that her mistress
was asleep.

The next morning, he found her in better
spirits. Her eyes, she said, felt too weak to
bear the light; so she kept the bed-room
darkened. But, in other respects, she had
little to complain of. After answering her
husband's first inquiries, she questioned him
about his plans for the day. He had letters
to write which would occupy him until twelve
o'clock. At two o'clock he expected the
volume of the Times to arrive; and he
should then devote the rest of the afternoon
to his work. After hearing what his plans
were, Mrs. Carling suggested that he should
ride out after he had done his letters, so as
to get some exercise at the fine part of the
day; and she then reminded him, that a
longer time than usual had elapsed since he
had been to see a certain old pensioner of
his, who had nursed him as a child, and who
was now bed-ridden in a village at some
distance, called Tringweighton. Although
the rector saw no immediate necessity for
making this charitable visit, the more
especially as the ride to the village and back,
and the intermediate time devoted to gossip,
would occupy him at least two hours and
a half, he assented to his wife's proposal,
perceiving that she urged it with unusual
earnestness, and being unwilling to thwart
her, even in a trifle, at a time when she
was ill.

Accordingly, his horse was at the door at
twelve precisely. Impatient to get back to
the precious volume of the Times, he rode so