“You sleep ill, I suppose?” said he carelessly.

“Very ill.”

“Did you ever try opiates?”

“No—­yes—­that is, sometimes.”

“Ah!” said Tom, more carelessly still, for he wished to hide, by all means, the importance of the confession.  “Well, they give relief for a time:  but they are dangerous things—­disorder the digestion, and have their revenge on the nerves next morning, as spitefully as brandy itself.  Much better try a glass of strong ale or porter just before going to bed.  I’ve known it give sleep, even in consumption—­try it, and exercise.  You shoot?”

“No.”

“Pity; there ought to be noble cocking in these woods.  However, the season’s past.  You fish?”

“No.”

“Pity again.  I hear Alva is full of trout.  Why not try sailing?  Nothing oxygenates the lungs like a sail, and your friends the fishermen would be delighted to have you as super-cargo.  They are always full of your stories to them, and your picking their brains for old legends and adventures.”

“They are noble fellows, and I want no better company; but, unfortunately, I am always sea-sick.”

“Ah! wholesome, but unpleasant:  you are fond of gardening?”

“Very; but stooping makes my head swim.”

“True, and I don’t want you to stoop.  I hope to see you soon as erect as a Guardsman.  Why not try walks?”

“Abominable bores—­lonely, aimless—­”

“Well, perhaps you’re right.  I never knew but three men who took long constitutionals on principle, and two of them were cracked.  But why not try a companion; and persuade that curate, who needs just the same medicine as you, to accompany you?  I don’t know a more gentleman-like, agreeable, well-informed man than he is.”

“Thank you.  I can choose my acquaintances for myself.”

“You touchy ass!” said Thurnall to himself.  “If we were in the blessed state of nature now, wouldn’t I give you ten minutes’ double thonging, and then set you to work, as the runaway nigger did his master, Bird o’ freedom Sawin, till you’d learnt a thing or two.”  But blandly still he went on.

“Try the dumb-bells then.  Nothing like them for opening your chest.  And do get a high desk made, and stand to your writing instead of sitting.”  And Tom actually made Vavasour promise to do both, and bade him farewell with—­

“Now, I’ll send you up a little tonic; and trouble you with no more visits till you send for me.  I shall see by one glance at your face whether you are following my prescriptions.  And, I say, I wouldn’t meddle with those opiates any more; try good malt and hops instead.”

“Those who drink beer, think beer,” said Elsley, smiling; for he was getting more hopeful of himself, and his terrors were vanishing beneath Tom’s skilful management.