“You speak confidently,” said the Major, gradually regaining his own self-possession, as he saw Tom so self-possessed.  “Have you—­allow me to ask so important a question—­have you seen much of cholera?”

“I have worked through three.  At Paris, at St. Petersburgh, and in the West Indies:  and I have been thinking up my old experience for the last six weeks, foreseeing what would come.”

“I am satisfied, sir; perhaps I ought to ask your pardon for the question.”

“Not at all.  How can you trust a man, unless you know him?” “And you expect it within the month?  You shall go with me to Lord Scoutbush to-morrow, and—­and now we will talk of something more pleasant.”  And he began again upon the zoophites.

Tom, as they chatted on, could not help wondering at the Major’s unexpected passion; and could not help remarking, also, that in spite of his desire to be agreeable, and to interest his guest in his scientific discoveries, he was yet distraught, and full of other thoughts.  What could be the meaning of it?  Was it mere excess of human sympathy?  The countenance hardly betokened that:  but still, who can trust altogether the expression of a weather-hardened visage of forty-five?  So the Doctor set it down to tenderness of heart, till a fresh vista opened on him.

Major Campbell, he soon found, was as fond of insects as of sea-monsters:  and he began inquiring about the woods, the heaths, the climate; which seemed to the Doctor, for a long time, to mean nothing more than the question which he put plainly, “Where have I a chance of rare insects?” But he seemed, after a while, to be trying to learn the geography of the parish in detail, and especially of the ground round Vavasour’s house.  “However it’s no business of mine,” thought Thurnall, and told him all he wanted, till—­

“Then the house lies quite in the bottom of the glen?  Is there a good fall to the stream—­for a stream I suppose there is?”

Thurnall shook his head.  “Cold boggy stewponds in the garden, such as our ancestors loved, damming up the stream.  They must needs have fish in Lent, we know; and paid the penalty of it by ague and fever.”

“Stewponds damming up the stream?  Scoutbush ought to drain them instantly!” said the Major, half to himself.  “But still the house lies high—­with regard to the town, I mean.  No chance of malaria coming up?”

“Upon my word, sir, as a professional man, that is a thing that I dare not say.  The chances are not great—­the house is two hundred yards from the nearest cottage:  but if there be an east wind—­”

“I cannot bear this any longer.  It is perfect madness!”

“I trust, sir, that you do not think that I have neglected the matter.  I have pointed it all out, I assure you, to Mr. Vavasour.”

“And it is not altered?”

“I believe it is to be altered—­that is—­the truth is, sir, that Mr. Vavasour shrinks so much from the very notion of cholera, that—­”