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 me whether it is real or visionary. What lady is that? Give her a name, uncle?"

"We must have Dr. Rile again, ma'am, or, better still, MacTurk: he's less of a humbug. Thomas must saddle the pony, and go for him."

"No: I don't want a doctor; mama shall be my only physician. Now, do you understand, uncle?"

Mr. Helstone pushed up his spectacles from his nose to his forehead, handled his snuff-box, and administered to himself a portion of the contents. Thus fortified, he answered briefly:—

"I see daylight. You've told her then, ma'am?"

"And is it true?" demanded Caroline, rising on her pillow. "Is she really my mother?"

"You won't cry, or make any scene, or turn hysterical, if I answer Yes?"

"Cry? I'd cry if you said No. It would be terrible to be disappointed now. But give her a name: how do you call her?"

"I call this stout lady in a quaint black dress, who looks young enough to wear much smarter raiment, if she would—I call her Agnes Helstone: she married my brother James, and is his widow."

"And my mother?"

"What a little sceptic it is! Look at her small face, Mrs. Pryor, scarcely larger than the palm of my hand, alive with acuteness and eagerness." (To Caroline).—"She had the trouble of bringing you into the world, at any rate: mind you show your duty to her by quickly getting well, and repairing the