The doctor beckoned Mr. Colebatch, the landlady,

and the carpenter, to follow him into the back-room.

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"Now," said he, "I've one, and only one, important direction to give you all; and you must communicate it to Miss Wray when she is a little less agitated. On no account let the patient imagine he's wrong in thinking that all his troubles have been the troubles of a dream. That will be the weak point in his intellectual consciousness for the rest of his life. When he gets stronger, he is sure to question you curiously about this dream; keep him in his selfdeceit, as you value his sanity! He's only got his reason back by getting it out of the very jaws of death, I can tell you-give it full time to strengthen! You know, I dare say, that a joint which is dislocated by a jerk, is also replaced by a jerk. Consider his mind, in the same way, to have been dislocated by one shock, and now replaced by another; and treat his intellect as you would treat a limb that had only just been slipped back into its proper place-treat it tenderly. By the bye," added the doctor, after a moment's consideration, "if you can't get the key of his box, without suspicion, pick the lock; and throw

away the fragments of the old cast (which he was always talking about in his delirium)-destroy them altogether. If he ever sees them again, they may do him dreadful mischief. He must always imagine what he imagines at present, that the new cast is the same cast that he has had all along. It's a very remarkable case, Mr. Colebatch, very remarkable: I really feel indebted to you for enabling me to study it. Compose yourself, sir, you're a little shaken and startled by this, I see; but there's no danger for him now. Look there that man, except on one point, is as sane as ever he was in his life!" They looked, as the doctor spoke. Mr. Wray was still on the sofa, gazing at the mask of Shakspeare, which Annie supported before him, as she knelt by his side. His arm was round her neck ; and, from time to time, he whispered to her, smiling faintly, but very happily, as she replied in whispers also. The sight was simple enough; but the landlady, thinking on all that had passed, began to weep as she beheld it. The honest carpenter looked very ready to follow her example; and Mr. Colebatch probably shared the same weakness at that moment,

though he was less candid in betraying it.

"Come,"

said the Squire, very huskily and hastily, "we

are only in the way

together!"

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Quite right, sir," observed the doctor; "that pretty little girl is the only medical attendant fit to

be with him now! I wait for you, Mr. Colebatch!

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I say, young fellow," said the Squire to the carpenter, as they went down stairs, "be in the way to-morrow morning: I've a good deal to ask you in private when I'm not all over in a twitter, as I am at present. Now our good old friend's getting round, my curiosity's getting round too. Be in the way tomorrow, at ten, when I come here. Quite ready, doctor! No! after you, if you please. Ah, thank God! we came into this house mourners, and we go out of it to rejoice. It will be a happy Christmas, doctor, and a merry New Year, after all!”

CHAPTER X.

CHRISTMAS TIME.

WHEN ten o'clock came, the Squire came-punctual to a minute. Instead of going up stairs, he mysteriously sent for the carpenter into the back parlour.

"Now, in the first place, how is Mr. Wray?"said the old gentleman, as anxiously as if he had not already sent three times the night before, and twice earlier in the morning, to ask that very question.

"Lord bless you, sir!"-answered the carpenter with a grin, and a very expressive rubbing of the hands-" He's coming to again, after his nice sleep last night, as brave as ever. He's dreadful weak still, to be sure; but he's got like himself again, already. He's been down on me twice in the last half hour, sir, about my elocution; he's making Annie read Shakspeare to him; and he's asking

whether any new pupils are coming—all just in the

old

way again. Oh, sir, it is so jolly to see him like that once more-if you'll only come up stairs

"Stop, till we've had our talk”—said the Squire "sit down. By the bye! has he said anything yet about that infernal cash-box ?”

"I picked the lock of the box this morning, sir, as the gentleman told me; and buried every bit of plaster out of it, deep in the kitchen garden. He saw the box afterwards, and gave a tremble, like. 'Take it away,' says he, 'never let me see it again : it reminds me of that dreadful dream.' And then, sir, he told us about what had happened, just as if he really had dreamt it; saying he couldn't get the subject quite out of his head, the whole thing was so much as if it had truly taken place. Afterwards, sir, he thanked me for making the new box for the cast -he remembered my promising to do that, though it was only just before all our trouble!"

"And of course, you humour him in everything, and let him think he's right ?"-said the Squire "He must never know that he hasn't been dreaming, to his dying day."