THE PIOUS FRAUD.
The winter passed away, and was succeeded by spring. The warm days of summer were approaching. Dr. Falcon had very soon obtained the conviction that his aunt had little cause for her uneasiness. He had told her so, and had explained to her the real nature of her indisposition. In vain: the erring vestal would on no account be undeceived. Susan and her husband were at length obliged to desist from every attempt to dispel the ridiculous illusion of Aunt Sarah, who threatened that she should begin to doubt the doctor's friendship. She seldom left her bed.
"She makes me uneasy," said Susan to her husband; "at times I almost fancy her cracked."
"And she is so, in every sense of the word," said the doctor. "It is hypochondria,—a fixed idea. My physic is of no avail against the extravagancies of her imagination. I know of nothing I can do, unless it be to drive away one fancy by substituting another. Suppose we pass our child off upon her for her own."
"But will she believe it?"
"If she does not, it is of little consequence."
After a few weeks Susan appeared no longer in Sarah's room—it had been so arranged by the doctor; and our aunt was informed that Susan had had a misfortune.
"Is the child dead?" inquired Sarah.
"Alas!" replied the doctor.
"Alas!" rejoined the aunt.