asked Mr Gibson, with some hesitation in his manner.'No!' replied Osborne, reluctantly.'I will tell you this: - I stay with friends in the country.I lead a life which ought to be conducive to health, because it is thoroughly simple, rational, and happy.And now I've told you more about it than my father himself knows.He never asks me where I have been; and I shouldn't tell him if he did - at least, I think not.' Mr Gibson rode on by Osborne's side, not speaking for a moment or two.'Osborne, whatever scrapes you may have got into, I should advise your telling your father boldly out.I know him; and I know he'll be angry enough at first, but he'll come round, take my word for it; and, somehow or another, he'll find money to pay your debts and set you free, if it's that kind of difficulty; and if it's any other kind of entanglement, why still he's your best friend.It's this estrangement from your father that's telling on your health, I'll be bound.' 'No,' said Osborne, 'I beg your pardon; but it's not that; I am really out of order.I daresay my unwillingness to encounter any displeasure from my father is the consequence of my indisposition; but I'll answer for it, it is not the cause of it.My instinct tells me there is something real the matter with me.' 'Come, don't be setting up your instinct against the profession,' said Mr Gibson, cheerily.He dismounted, and throwing the reins of his horse round his arm, he looked at Osborne's tongue and felt his pulse, asking him various questions.At the end he said, - 'We'll soon bring you about, though I should like a little more quiet talk with you, without this tugging brute for a third.If you'll manage to ride over and lunch with us to-morrow, Dr Nicholls will be with us; he's coming over to see old Rowe; and you shall have the benefit of the advice of two doctors instead of one.Go home now, you've had enough exercise for the middle of a day as hot as this is.And don't mope in the house, listening to the maunderings of your stupid instinct.' '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.' '0 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.Mr.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.Then there was lunch, when every one was merry and hungry, excepting the hostess, who was trying to train her midday appetite into the genteelest of all ways, and thought (falsely enough) that Dr Nicholls was a good person to practise the semblance of ill-health upon, and that he would give her the proper civil amount of commiseration for her ailments, which every guest ought to bestow upon a hostess who complains of her delicacy of health.
