"I wish you had kept your story to yourself, doctor," she said, sharply.
"May I ask why, madam?"
"You have confirmed my son, sir, in his resolution to go to Saint Anthony's Well."
Mr. MacGlue quietly consulted his pocket almanac before he replied.
"It's the full moon on the ninth of the month," he said. "That gives Mr. Germaine some days of rest, ma'am,. before he takes the journey. If he travels in his own comfortable carriage--whatever I may think, morally speaking, of his enterprise--I can't say, medically speaking, that I believe it will do him much harm."
"You know where Saint Anthony's Well is?" I interposed.
"I must be mighty ignorant of Edinburgh not to know that," replied the doctor.
"Is the Well in Edinburgh, then?"
"It's just outside Edinburgh--looks down on it, as you may say. You follow the old street called the Canongate to the end. You turn to your right past the famous Palace of Holyrood; you cross the Park and the Drive, and take your way upward to the ruins of Anthony's Chapel, on the shoulder of the hill--and there you are! There's a high rock behind the chapel, and at the foot of it you will find the spring they call Anthony's Well. It's thought a pretty view by moonlight; and they tell me it's no longer beset at night by bad characters, as it used to be in the old time."
My mother, in graver and graver displeasure, rose to retire to the drawing-room.
"I confess you have disappointed me," she said to Mr. MacGlue. "I should have thought you would have been the last man to encourage my son in an act of imprudence."
"Craving your pardon, madam, your son requires no encouragement. I can see for myself that his mind is made up. Where is the use of a person like me trying to stop him? Dear madam, if he won't profit by your advice, what hope can I have that he will take mine?"
Mr. MacGlue pointed this artful compliment by a bow of the deepest respect, and threw open the door for my mother to pass out.
When we were left together over our wine, I asked the doctor how soon I might safely start on my journey to Edinburgh.
"Take two days to do the journey, and you may start, if you're bent on it, at the beginning of the week. But mind this," added the prudent doctor, "though I own I'm anxious to hear what comes of your expedition--understand at the same time, so far as the lady is concerned, that I wash my hands of the consequences." -- * The doctor's narrative is not imaginary. It will be found related in full detail, and authenticated by names and dates, in Robert Dale Owen's very interesting work called "Footfalls on the Boundary of Another World." The author gladly takes this opportunity of acknowledging his obligations to Mr. Owen's remarkable book.