But it was Adela herself who failed next time. I had seen her during the reading draw her shawl about her as if she were cold. She seemed quite well when the friends left, but she had caught a chill; and before the morning she was quite feverish, and unable to leave her bed.  
"You see, Colonel," said Mrs. Cathcart at breakfast, "that this doctor of yours is doing the child harm instead of good. He has been suppressing instead of curing the complaint; and now she is worse than ever."
 
"When the devil—" I began to remark in reply.
 
"Mr. Smith!" exclaimed Mrs. Cathcart.
 
"Allow me, madam, to finish my sentence before you make up your mind to be shocked.—When the devil goes out of a man, or a woman either, he gives a terrible wrench by way of farewell. Now, as the prophet Job teaches us, all disease is from the devil; and—"
 
"The prophet Job!—Mr. Smith?"
 
"Well, the old Arab Scheik, if you like that epithet better."
 
"Really, Mr. Smith!"
 
"Well, I don't mind what you call him. I only mean to say that a disease sometimes goes out with a kind of flare, like a candle—or like the poor life itself. I believe, if this is an intermittent fever—as, from your description, I expect it will prove to be—it will be the best thing for her."
 
"Well, we shall see what Dr. Wade will say."
 
"Dr. Wade?" I exclaimed.
 
"Of course, my brother will not think of trusting such a serious case to an inexperienced young man like Mr. Armstrong."
 
"It seems to me," I replied, "that for some time the case has ceased to be a serious one. You must allow that Adela is better."
 
"Seemed to be better, Mr. Smith. But it was all excitement, and here is the consequence. I, as far as I have any influence, decidedly object to Mr. Armstrong having anything more to do with the case."
 
"Perhaps you are right, Jane," said the colonel. "I fear you are. But how can I ask Dr. Wade to resume his attendance?"
 
Always nervous about Adela, his sister-in-law had at length succeeded in frightening him.
 
"Leave that to me," she said; "I will manage him."
 
"Pooh!" said I, rudely. "He will jump at it. It will be a grand triumph for him. I only want you to mind what you are about. You know Adela does not like Dr. Wade."
 
"And she does like Doctor Armstrong?" said Mrs. Cathcart, stuffing each word with significance.
 
"Yes," I answered, boldly. "Who would not prefer the one to the other?"
 
But her arrow had struck. The colonel rose, and saying only, "Well, Jane, I leave the affair in your hands," walked out of the room. I was coward enough to follow him. Had it been of any use, coward as I was, I would have remained.
 
But Mrs. Cathcart, if she had not reckoned without her host, had, at least, reckoned without her hostess. She wrote instantly to Dr. Wade, in terms of which it is enough to say that they were successful, for they brought the doctor at once. I saw him pass through the hall, looking awfully stiff, important, and condescending. Beeves, who had opened the door to him, gave me a very queer look as he showed him into the drawing-room, ringing, at the same time, for Adela's maid.
 
Now Mrs. Cathcart had not expected that the doctor would arrive so soon, and had, as yet, been unable to make up her mind how to communicate to the patient the news of the change in the physical ministry. So when the maid brought the message, all that her cunning could provide her with at the moment was the pretence, that he had called so opportunely by chance.
 
"Ask him to walk up," she said, after just one moment's hesitation.
 
Adela heard the direction her aunt gave, through the cold shiver which was then obliterating rather than engrossing her attention, and concluded that they had sent for Mr. Armstrong. But Mrs. Cathcart, turning towards her, said—
 
"Adela, my love, Dr. Wade had just called; and I have asked him to step up stairs."
 
The patient started up.
 
"Aunt, what do you mean? If that old wife comes into this room, I will make him glad to go out of it!"
 
You see she was feverish, poor child, else I am sure she could not have been so rude to her aunt. But before Mrs. Cathcart could reply, in came Dr. Wade. He walked right up to the bed, after a stately obeisance to the lady attendant.
 
"I am sorry to find you so ill, Miss Cathcart."
 
"I am perfectly well, Dr. Wade. I am sorry you have had the trouble of walking up stairs."
 
As she said this, she rang the bell at the head of her bed. Her maid, who had been listening at the door, entered at once.—I had all this from Adela herself afterwards.
 
"Emma, bring me my desk. Dr. Wade, there must be some mistake. It was my aunt, Mrs. Cathcart, who sent for you. Had she given me the opportunity, I would have begged that the interview might take place in her room instead of mine."
 
Dr. Wade retreated towards the fireplace, where Mrs. Cathcart stood, quite aware that she had got herself into a mess of no ordinary complication. Yet she persisted in her cunning. She lifted her finger to her forehead.
 
"Ah?" said Dr. Wade.
 
"Yes," said Mrs. Cathcart.
 
"Wandering?"
 
"Dreadfully."
 
After some more whispering, the doctor sat down to write a prescription. But meantime, Adela was busy writing another. What she wrote was precisely to this effect—
 
"Dear Mr. Armstrong,
 
"I have caught a bad cold, and my aunt has let loose Dr. Wade upon me. Please come directly, if you will save me from ever so much nasty medicine, at the least. My aunt is not my mother, thank heaven! though she would gladly usurp that relationship.
 
"Yours most truly,
 
"Adela Cathcart."
 
She folded and sealed the note—sealed it carefully—and gave it to Emma, who vanished with it, followed instantly by Mrs. Cathcart. As to what took place outside the door—shall I confess it?—Beeves is my informant.
 
"Where are you going, Emma? Emma, come here directly," said Mrs.
Cathcart.
Emma obeyed.
 
"I am going a message for mis'ess."
 
"Who is that note for?"
 
"I didn't ask. John can read well enough."
 
"Show it me."
 
Emma, I presume, closed both lips and hand very tight. "I command you."
 
"Miss Cathcart pays me my wages, ma'am," said Emma, and turning, sped down-stairs like a carrier-pigeon.
 
In the hall she met Beeves, and told him the story.
 
"There she comes!" cried he. "Give me the letter. I'll take it myself."
 
"You're not going without your hat, surely, Mr. Beeves," said Emma.
 
"Bless me! It's down-stairs. There's master's old one! He'll never want it again. And if he does, it'll be none the worse."<............