“Yes, and we have such hopes!” she answered. “There does appear to be a probability that not only relief, but a cure, may be effected; otherwise, you may be sure we should not have ventured on so much expense.”
“I always said Mr. Channing ought to try them.”
“Very true; you did so. We were only waiting, you know, for the termination of the chancery suit. It is terminated, Mr. Huntley; and against us.”
Mr. Huntley had been abroad since June, travelling in different parts of the Continent; but he had heard from home regularly, chiefly from his daughter, and this loss of the suit was duly communicated with other news.
“Never mind,” said he to Mrs. Channing. “Better luck next time.”
He was of a remarkably pleasant disposition, in temperament not unlike Hamish Channing. A man of keen intellect was Mr. Huntley; his fine face expressing it. The luggage collected, they rejoined Mr. Channing.
“I have scarcely said a word to you,” cried Mr. Huntley, taking his hand. “But I am better pleased to see you here, than I should be to see any one else living. It is the first step towards a cure. Where are you bound for?”
“For Borcette. It is—”
“I know it,” interrupted Mr. Huntley. “I was at it a year or two ago. One of the little Brunnens, near Aix-la-Chapelle. I stayed a whole week there. I have a great mind to accompany you thither, now, and settle you there.”
“Oh, do!” exclaimed Mr. Channing, his face lighting up, as the faces of invalids will light up at the anticipated companionship of a friend. “If you can spare time, do come with us!”