"And the daily attendance at early mass as well. That must certainly be discontinued," pursued Max, speaking with the same prompt decision, and unheeding her attempt at remonstrance. "You have every reason to guard against taking cold, and the mornings are beginning to be cool and autumnal. As to fasting, I forbid it once for all. It is as bad as poison to a person in your condition."
"But, Doctor!" said the girl, a second time, and again her protest found no hearing. Max was not to be diverted from his point.
"Now, on the other hand, I prescribe a long walk every day, but at noon, when the sun is bright and warm--as much air and exercise as possible, and a little amusement too, something to vary the thoughts. The winter gaieties will be setting in soon. I would advise you not to dance too much."
Agnes started back three steps at least, thus emulating her father's late hasty retreat.
"Dance!" she repeated, in absolute dismay. "Dance!"
"Yes, why not? All young ladies are fond, of dancing, are they not? You do not want to be an exception to the rule, I suppose?"
"I have never danced," she replied quickly, and with as much decision of tone as her soft voice would admit of. "I have always kept aloof from worldly amusements. They are sinful, and I detest them."
"Well, well, you should try them before you make up your mind," said the doctor, kindly. "But such advice hardly comes within my professional competence. I will give you a prescription for the present, and see you again in the course of a few days. Have you paper and pen and ink at hand?"
Christine brought the necessary implements, and he sat down to write. Agnes had taken refuge by the window, where she stood with folded palms, and a look of consternation on her pale face. When the prescription was finished. Max came up to her again, and unceremoniously disengaged the folded hands to feel her pulse once more.
"Yes; now follow my instructions carefully, and there will, I hope, be an improvement before long. Good-morning, Fräulein."