"Certainly," said I. "Has it not been under the 'seal of confession!'"
"True, true," she said; "and, doctor—would you mind—if you are really going to call upon—Charles, to—to—take a relic to him of me?"
"Not at all," I said. "On the contrary, I should be most happy; but—" I said, after a moment's reflection, "but—your parents—would they object, do you think?"
"Oh, don't be afraid, doctor," she replied. "I am very independent, and as for yourself, your name needn't get mixed up in the transaction."
Here she reached a pair of scissors, and severed one of her long ebony tresses, which she handed to me with these words:
"Take this," she said, "to my spirit lover, and tell him Edith sends him this in the flesh, and hopes to see him again in the spirit."
I promised I would do as she desired, and shaking hands with her, I left the apartment.
My friend and his wife awaited me in the parlour, and asked me my opinion of their daughter's case. I gave them hope of her recovery; but told them that she had positively refused to take any of my medicines, and I therefore adopted the same manœuvre that I had adopted with Charles, and was forced to leave the medicine to be administered clandestinely. I wrote out a prescription and left the house, saying I would call again in a day or two. I took the mail that evening, and started for London. Finding myself at length arrived in the great metropolis, my first thought was to call upon Charles.
As I entered his chamber the expression on my patient's countenance was one of deepest melancholy. When he first caught sight of me I thought he looked suspicious, and was going to turn away, but as I approached him his countenance altogether changed, and grew so bright and radiant, that he did not look the same man. He had never welcomed me before in this way, and his manner puzzled me.
"Oh, doctor," he cried, in tones of the greatest joy, "is it possible you have seen her? I know you have; I can't be mistaken."