CHAPTER IV.

LES CARTES SONT BROUILLÉES.

ONE night I received a note from Mrs. Lackingham, requesting me to visit her professionally. I went at once, and was received by her alone. She wished to consult me about her daughter, who was complaining of indisposition. She had often been subject to severe head-aches; but was now suffering so much more than usual, that medical advice seemed required. With this short preliminary explanation, she accompanied me into her daughter's room.

Miss St. Maur was resting on a sofa. She appeared drowsy and inclined to sleep; alluded to a terrible pain and weight in her head. She had a dull and anxious expression of face, and her eyes looked jaded, if such a term can be

used-the iris seemed almost colourless.

I could

have wished to have seen her for a few instants alone, as I should have then ascertained my way more clearly. Almost every question I put, was answered with too much fluency by Mrs. Lackingham; Marion appearing as if she hardly listened. either to one or the other.

"Had she received any blow on the head?" Certainly not."

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"Nor any nervous shock to the system?" "Oh, dear, no! Is it not so, my love?"

An almost inaudible murmur, which might be assent or not, was all that Mrs. Lackingham received by way of reply. I could do little but order some suitable remedies, and promise to see her again in the morning. I did not see Miss Carnegie; but an hour afterwards, a threecornered missive was placed in my hand, containing the following:

"Mr. Tremlett proposed yesterday, and was accepted, at any rate by Mrs. Lackingham. Marion still holds out, though I hardly expect

it will be for long-this is the secret of her illness. I never see her alone now..

(Signed) "E. L. CARNEGIE."

Youth is worth something still; and so I thought when I saw next morning that my patient, though not free from threatening symptoms, was still decidedly relieved. As before, I had no opportunity of learning any particulars from herself. I expressed my satisfaction at the turn events had taken as far as they went-I laid emphasis on these three words.

"What is it you apprehend, doctor?" as I stood in the hall drawing on my gloves.

"Congestion of the brain, madam. Nor do I consider all reason for anxiety to be over. It appears to me to have been the result of mental harass. You had better remove the cause, lest more serious consequences ensue."

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Good-bye, doctor," replied Mrs. Lackingham, laying her white, jewelled hand on my arm; "we have been much indebted to your skill, and

will not fail to send for you if matters should appear to require your presence."

"Good," I thought, as I turned away; "you know my opinion of you, at any rate.

I was not sent for again, as my readers will divine; and it appeared the attack was staved off for a season, as I soon heard of Miss St. Maur's reappearance in public, with Mr. Tremlett in close attendance.

It was not long before George Carnegie came to an open rupture with Mrs. Lackingham. This was perhaps very natural, but I do not think he helped his cause by it.

Meanwhile, the silent pressure system went on; and some rather painful scenes were enacted in that house. For some time, Miss St. Maur bore up, and resolutely refused to consider Mr. Tremlett in the light of a lover. But gradually she succumbed to a certain extent, or, at least, became passive-unable, I suppose, to resist the affectionate and imploring representations which her mother daily and hourly poured into her ears.

"I do not know how it is," exclaimed Miss

Carnegie," but Marion seems to lose all courage, almost her senses, in the presence of Mrs. Lackingham. And however she may and does express herself to me on the few occasions when we are alone, a caress or a tear from that woman produces obedience. I can hardly bear to see her lay her aching head on that bad, false, hard heart, as she does. She must feel that she is tyrannized over, and is made to behave shamefully to George."

So Miss Carnegie spoke rather warmly, it will be seen.

"The hand is of iron, but it wears a velvet glove, I take it, my old friend," I replied. "But you must remember that these are not the days when young ladies are absolutely compelled to marry a person odious to them, if they persist in refusing to do so. It may be that Miss St. Maur has weighed matters, and finds that it will cost her less unhappiness to give way."

In this I did her much injustice, I own, as I discovered afterwards.

"Nonsense!" returned Miss Carnegie; "I see