‘What else have I to do?’ said Osborne.  ’My father and I are not companions; one can’t read and write for ever, especially when there is no end to be gained by it.  I don’t mind telling you—­but in confidence, recollect—­that I’ve been trying to get some of my poems published; but there’s no one like a publisher for taking the conceit out of one.  Not a man among them would take them as a gift.’

’O ho! so that’s it, is it, Master Osborne?  I thought there was some mental cause for this depression of health.  I wouldn’t trouble my head about it, if I were you, though that’s always very easily said, I know.  Try your hand at prose, if you can’t manage to please the publishers with poetry; but, at any rate, don’t go on fretting over spilt milk.  But I mustn’t lose my time here.  Come over to us to-morrow, as I said; and what with the wisdom of two doctors, and the wit and folly of three women, I think we shall cheer you up a bit.’

So saying, Mr. Gibson remounted, and rode away at the long, slinging trot so well known to the country people as the doctor’s pace.

‘I don’t like his looks,’ thought Mr. Gibson to himself at night, as over his daybooks he reviewed the events of the day.  ’And then his pulse.  But how often we’re all mistaken; and, ten to one, my own hidden enemy lies closer to me than his does to him—­even taking the worse view of the case.’

Osborne made his appearance a considerable time before luncheon the next morning; and no one objected to the earliness of his call.  He was feeling better.  There were few signs of the invalid about him; and what few there were disappeared under the bright pleasant influence of such a welcome as he received from all.  Molly and Cynthia had much to tell him of the small proceedings since he went away, or to relate the conclusions of half-accomplished projects.  Cynthia was often on the point of some gay, careless inquiry as to where he had been, and what he had been doing; but Molly, who conjectured the truth, as often interfered to spare him the pain of equivocation—­a pain that her tender conscience would have felt for him, much more than he would have felt it for himself.

Mrs. Gibson’s talk was desultory, complimentary, and sentimental, after her usual fashion; but still, on the whole, though Osborne smiled to himself at much that she said, it was soothing and agreeable.  Presently, Dr Nicholls and Mr. Gibson came in; the former had had some conference with the latter on the subject of Osborne’s health; and, from time to time, the skilful old physician’s sharp and observant eyes gave a comprehensive look at Osborne.