“O, may God forbid, poor boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Lindsay; “for, although he always joined his father against me, still he was in other respects most obliging to every one, and inoffensive to all.”

“I know that, and I am sorry that this jade—­and she is a handsome jade, they say—­should have gained such a cursed influence over him.  That, however, is not the question.  We must think of nothing now but his recovery.  The strictest attention ought to be paid to him; and as it has occurred to me that there is no female under this roof who understands the management of a sick bed, we ought, under these circumstances, to provide a nurse for him.”

“Well, indeed, that is true enough, Harry, and it is very kind and considerate of you to think of it; but who will we get?  The women here are very ignorant and stupid.”

“I have been making inquiries,” he replied, “and I am told there is a woman in Rathfillan, named Collins, niece to a religious herbalist or herb doctor, who possesses much experience in that way.  It is just such a woman we want.”

“Well, then, let her come; do you go and engage her; but see that she will not extort dishonest terms from you, because there is nothing but fraud and knavery among these wretches.”

Harry lost little time in seeming the services of Caterine Collins, who was that very day established as nurse-tender in Charles Lindsay’s sick room.

Alice’s illness was now such as left little expectation of her recovery.  She was stated, and with good reason, to be in a condition absolutely hopeless; and nothing could exceed the regret and sorrow which were felt for the benevolent and gentle girl.  We say benevolent, because, since her accession to her newly-acquired property, her charities to the poor and distressed were bountiful and generous, almost beyond belief; and even during her illness she constituted her father as the agent—­and a willing one he was—­of her beneficence.  In fact, the sorrow for her approaching death was deep and general, and the sympathy felt for her parents such as rarely occurs in life.

Of course it is unnecessary to say that these tidings of her hopeless illness did not reach the Lindsays.  On the second morning after Harry’s visit he asked for a private interview with his mother, which was accorded to him.

“Mother,” said he, “you must pay the Goodwins another visit—­a visit, mark you, of sympathy and condolence.  You forget all the unpleasant circumstances that have occurred between the families.  You forget everything but your anxiety for the recovery of poor, dear Alice.”

“But,” replied his mother, “I do not wish to go.  Why should I go to express a sympathy which I do not feel?  Her death is only a judicial punishment on them for having inveigled your silly old uncle to leave them the property which would have otherwise come to you as the natural heir.”