Leonard cursed his ill luck, cursed Gerald for his infatuation, cursed Emilia for stepping in to spoil his plans, cursed the wagoner and his wife for their kindness toward her--in short, cursed everything and everybody except himself, whom he regarded as the person who was being wronged in the affair. But he wore a constant smile upon his lips, his words were honey, and the consideration he expressed for Emilia was perfect in its way. Sometimes when he spoke of her it was in a choked voice, and he was certainly successful in deceiving everyone around him. His one hope now was that Emilia would die, and could he have done so without risk to himself, he would cheerfully have given her a cup of poison to bring about that consummation.

Gerald's great grief was that Emilia did not recognize him. Indeed, she knew no one. Even when she was able to move about her mind was a blank. She allowed him to take her hand in his, and to retain it, but to the tender pressure of his fingers she made no response. They took woodland rambles together, hand in hand, and she gathered wild flowers which she arranged afterward in the cottage. She listened to all he said, nodding her head gently from time to time in a manner which made his heart beat with hope that she understood what he was speaking of. Of course the subject-matter, when originated by Gerald, was personal. He dilated upon his love for her, and explained again and again how it was that he had not come to her the day after the fire; and when he finished she gazed at him with a pitiful smile on her lips and a vacant look in her eyes, which proved too well that his words had fallen upon ears insensible to their meaning. Upon abstract matters she was more intelligent. She loved the animals about the cottage, and the dumb creatures loved her and obeyed her least motion; she loved the flowers that were gathered, but Gerald observed with pain that she tended with care only those she gathered herself. When he gave her any she accepted them gently, but presently they dropped from her hand, and she made no effort to pick them up. "I have wrecked her reason," he groaned. "Monster that I am, I have ruined my dear girl's life!" As for Leonard, he derived some satisfaction from what was transpiring. "She is drifting into a confirmed idiot," he thought. "It is not so good as getting rid of her altogether, but I am grateful for small mercies."

It had been arranged between Gerald and Leonard that a certain secrecy should be observed in their proceedings. Leonard did not exactly know how this would be to his advantage, but he had a dim idea that it might be so turned, and that at all events it would be better than making a full disclosure of all that had transpired. When Leonard mooted the plan Gerald asked what would be the good of it, and Leonard answered:

"My poor boy! What a simpleton you are, and how little you know the world. It is the publicity of the thing that has driven Emilia to the injudicious course she has pursued, for I do not disguise from you that it would have been far better for her had she remained to face matters boldly."

"It was impossible she should do so," said Gerald. "My dear girl's nature is far too sensitive and delicate to cope with such snakes in the grass as Mrs. Seaton."

"Granted; but although there would have been suffering, I still maintain it would have been the better course. I repeat that it is the publicity of the unfortunate affair that has directed her movements. Would she have run away, had she not been found in your house?"

"No, she would have had no motive for doing so."

"Exactly; and the motive that urged her on was the publicity of the thing. You would only be adding to her unhappiness by making affairs still more public. Scandal is a feminine bird with a thousand pairs of wings, my boy, and she would fly here, and render Emilia's life intolerable. There is nothing that people enjoy so much. Every man's door flies open when she knocks, and if it should chance to remain shut the jade creeps in through the crevices. Emilia would not thank you if she discovered that it was through you she was being pursued by the wretched innuendoes circulated by Mrs. Seaton. Let sleeping dogs lie. And bear in mind that Emilia has made things a hundred times worse by running away from her enemies."

"How so?"

"She has left them in possession of the field, and therefore in the position of victors. I am not speaking from my heart, but with the usual worldly tongue, which I most heartily despise, when I say that Emilia's flight is in itself an admission of guilt. It is really so, Gerald. She has piled difficulty upon difficulty, and you must not assist her in the work. Her sensitive nature, yes, I grant you all that, but it is for the man to be strong and wise, and to let his actions be guided by a cool brain."

"You are a true counsellor, Leonard. But for you Heaven knows to what a pass we should be driven. Still it sounds cruel."

"We must be cruel only to be kind, dear boy. The people in these parts are like people in our own town, like people all over the world. There isn't a pin to choose between them. So for your Emilia's sake we will be mum."

So it was settled. Had Leonard had his wish, their names would have been concealed and they would have adopted others; but to this Gerald would not consent. Leonard was secretly exultant, although, as has been said, he did not exactly know how it would be of advantage to him. But he did know that secrecy would make matters worse for Emilia instead of better, and that when her acquaintances became aware of the plan adopted--as become aware they should if the necessity arose--it would place another weapon in their hands against her.

Thus six weeks passed, and Emilia remained in the same condition. Leonard wondered for how much longer they were going to stop. The quietude of the place palled upon him; there were no amusements, no society, and Gerald being with him, he was compelled to be on his best behavior. He longed for the busy world and its pleasures and excitements. He ventured to speak to Gerald about their stay.

"I shall not leave," said Gerald, "until Emilia is better, or until we are married."

This staggered Leonard. "Surely," he said, "you have no notion of marrying her while she remains as she is?"

"If it were possible," said Gerald, very seriously, "I should not hesitate. Leonard, my dear brother, you are my superior in every way, but at least in this affair I know what is right. Leave me here to myself, then. Why should I condemn you to a life which must be intolerably dull to you? You have already assisted me in a manner which no other man in the world could or would have done, and to my last hour I shall be grateful to you."

"I shall not leave your side," said Leonard, pressing his hand, "until you drive me from you."

"That will be never," said Gerald, affectionately. "Leonard, with your worldly wisdom, can you suggest any plan by which Emilia's mind could be restored to her?"

"None, my dear boy."

"The doctor who attends her," said Gerald, in a musing tone, "is a worthy gentleman, but there may be cleverer than he to be found in cities."

"So far as I can see," said Leonard, much disturbed by this observation, "he has done all that is possible in such a case."

"There will be no harm in my having a conversation with him. I shall go at once."

"I am with you, Gerald, if you want me."

"I always want you, my dear brother. Let us go."

They found the doctor, an elderly gentleman, at home, and he received them politely, but not exactly with cordiality. They fell immediately into conversation about Emilia, but both Leonard and Gerald observed that the doctor expressed himself with marked reserve. At length he seemed to arrive at a certain resolution, and, with a significant look at Leonard, he said:

"Would you mind leaving your brother and me in private a while?"

"Not at all," replied Leonard, somewhat startled. "If there is any particular reason for it."

"I have a particular reason," said the doctor, "or I should not request it."

"What do you say, Gerald?" asked Leonard.

"The doctor wishes it," said Gerald.

Leonard rose, and went to the door. Gerald ran after him into the passage and whispered, "I will tell you everything that passes, Leonard. You must not be hurt."

"Nothing can hurt me that is for your good," said Leonard. "I will walk up and down the street, and wait till you come out." He was furious with the doctor. "Officious fool!" he muttered when he was outside. "What mischief will he be up to?"

"Now," said the doctor, when Gerald rejoined him, "I can speak more freely. I have nothing whatever to say against your brother----"

"Nothing can be said against him," interrupted Gerald, warmly.

"It is pleasant to see the affection that exists between you," remarked the doctor; "but he is not the young lady's lover."

"No," said Gerald, "I am."

"It is for that reason," said the doctor, with a slight frown, "that I desire to confer with you alone. Young gentleman, it is my intention to speak very plainly to you. You are the young lady's lover, you declare. Her honorable lover, may I ask?"

"Her honorable lover," replied Gerald, "as I am a gentleman."

"Declared and accepted?"

"Declared and accepted."

"Have you any objection to my saying what is in my mind?"

"Not the slightest."

"You love her honorably. Therefore you would do much to restore her to health?"

"I would give all I possess in the world. I would sacrifice my life for her dear sake."

"You are rich?"

"I am very well-to-do."

"Have you a thousand a-year?"