Mrs Boucher was dead, her six children orphans, and it fell to Nicholas Higgins - having now only one child - grown and working - to take on the little Bouchers - feeling guilty as he did, over his break with John Boucher. The burden of those six additional mouths to feed, kept a civil tongue about Higgins when he tramped each day to Marlborough Mills, and he had never been more grateful for the work. Mr Thornton, too, took an interest in Higgins' work, and privately found him to be a sure hand; a sturdy man who kept sharp to his time and could be relied upon to do a good job. Mrs Boucher's passing, also led - as Mr Thornton had predicted - to an influx of workers at the mill infirmary.

The first enquiries were made merely by those few who were interested in the idea of a female doctor, and they simply came to gape at Isabel. But when a man caught his hand on a machine, and it needed stitching, a gathering formed at the door during the shift change-over, to watch Isabel work, and the weaver - pleased at the attention - shunned the privacy screen and sat proudly before his audience, waving his freshly-stitched palm about so that all might see. Many of the workers wanted a closer look, and upon examination, they collectively announced that they "reckoned hoo wa' a'righ'."

Soon, the visitors came each day that the infirmary was open, and although she mostly saw to the children - who were treated at no charge - Isabel did give ointment for a young woman whose skin reacted badly to the heat and humidity of the carding room, and the woman who had come to see her on the first day, brought her husband with her, and insisted that he have his chest looked at. Within a fortnight, Isabel was known as "Dr Isabel" by the hands, and universally admired for being kindly, without the air of condescension or stiff propriety which the "do-gooders" often displayed. If they thought her improper and not quite what a young lady ought to be, they liked her all the more for it. Mr Thornton - quietly watchful - did too, although he bristled whenever he saw a grown man step into the infirmary. He felt certain that a lady ought only to tend to woman and children, but he had to offer the medical care to all or none, and knew Isabel would rebel against him if he expressed caution about whether it was seemly for her to examine male patients.

The popularity of the infirmary did not go unnoticed by Mrs Thornton, either, and each day that it was open, she would stand at the drawing-room window, peering down into the yard with pinched lips. If she ever saw her son's shadow cast about the window to his office, she would invariably bristle, thinking him stood looking out on the stable block. Her resentment would then fester and bubble, until she managed to make only a little progress in her linens, and was forced into some other occupation which took up her mind and prevented her from dwelling on the insidious presence in the mill yard.

Nor did her son's apparent ambivalence towards the infirmary reassure her, because she knew him to be a private and cautious man, and after facing one rejection, she knew he would not speak openly of his feelings - nor allow them to be discerned by others - unless he felt convinced of Miss Darrow's regard for him. She could not even take solace in the cessation of her son's visits to Crampton, for although Mr Thornton was pressed for time (his workload at the mill being heavy, as he struggled to make up from the strike), he still insisted on taking his lessons with Mr Hale twice a week, and often took tea with the Hales afterwards. Little did Mrs Thornton know that this was done at Isabel's urging - for the sake of Mr Hale - who was always brighter for having seen Mr Thornton.

Now the little Bouchers were well fed, and Nicholas was in work. Mr Hale was well-occupied with lessons (Mr Thornton having recommended him to several new students), and looked forward to his regular meetings with his favourite pupil. Margaret took enjoyment from sitting with the Boucher children and teaching them to read, and Isabel relished her new occupation, now that she had patients to see to. But both young women were unfulfilled. Margaret wished that she could do more. Her father - brought so low after his wife's death - had rallied upon receiving word that Frederick was safely back in Cadiz, and took such enjoyment from his private tutoring and frequent talks with Mr Thornton, that he hardly required coddling at all. It was that which brought Margaret to feel the great weight of Bessy Higgins' death.

She had not the chance to grieve for her friend or truly miss her company, for her mother was so ill upon Bessy's death, and then her father in constant need of a companion. It was only once he began to emerge from his chrysalis of grief - and the burden upon Margaret was lifted - that she felt the true sting of loss. And that loss was compounded by Isabel's three days from home, as she tended to the mill workers, and Margaret found herself suddenly listless, with a disquietude of spirit that no amount of walking, nor reading letters with the Bouchers, would alleviate.

And for all that Isabel had gained in becoming "Dr Isabel", she felt the unspoken withdrawal of Mr Thornton. He seldom came to her when she worked across the mill yard; them only meeting when she passed to him, the lists of supplies which she had used, or the monies she had collected. So too, when he called at Crampton, did he direct his energies towards entertaining Mr Hale. And despite wishing it to be so - believing that it would prolong Mr Hale's life to have a close and loyal friend - Isabel felt neglected, and was certain she had been relegated to the peripheries of "friendship" in Mr Thornton's regard. The realisation of this shift in his sensibilities was crushing, and for all the energies she expended in her work, she had to force her lips into a ready smile, whenever he was about, but failed to notice her.

Of course, he never failed to notice Isabel, but intentionally concealed his unabated regard for her. He sensed in her an uncertainty, and although he had not initially intended to make her doubt his feelings for her, he saw that the more uncertain she became, the more she looked to him. An evening could not pass at Crampton, without her book being set carelessly aside (absent-mindedly, he felt sure), and her eyes cast upon him. He could feel her watching him, listening to his every word, and it would make his heart pound within his breast, until all he could hear was the ringing of his own blood in his ears, drowning out his friend's placid, gentle voice.

He revelled in those unguarded moments, where he could bask in her unconcealed study of him, and he knew - instinctively - that she only looked to him as she now did, because she felt he would not look to her. Indeed, he felt certain that if he let those fringes of affection brush against the hem of her skirt, or stir a whisper upon her skin, her eyes would lower, her head would turn away, and she would avoid his loving gaze altogether. She loved him! He was sure of it, but she was afraid for him to see it, and so only bestowed her love upon him when she thought he should not notice.

Thus - Isabel feeling the withdrawal of Mr Thornton's romantic affections, and Margaret wishing for her own fulfilment and companion - the arrival of Mr Bell from Oxford could not have come for the inhabitants of Crampton at a more fortuitous moment. And, as he had promised, he had brought with him a new friend.

Now, Mr Bell had supposed his young friend to be of particular interest to Isabel (because he was a medical man), and Mr Bell - having previously sensed that Mr Thornton held a regard for Isabel - thought to place his doctor friend before Mr Hale's goddaughter, and see if he might catch her fancy. He thought both men - doctor and Master - good catches for Isabel, and would have been happy for her to choose either gentleman, but he enjoyed toying with people (an inoffensive way), and thought to amuse himself by placing before Isabel, a handsome young man with a shared interest, and watching for Mr Thornton's response. He knew Mr Thornton well, and thought him the wilful sort of man who could be provoked into action, and so Mr Bell was hopeful that if Isabel did not like his Oxford friend, she might have Mr Thornton to fall back on.

'Well,' said Mr Hale, holding up a brief note from his old friend, 'Mr Bell comes to tea to-night, and brings with him his young Oxford friend. I should think Mr Thornton will be pleased to have the company of a younger man. Mr Thornton's a progressive fellow and can learn nothing from me that does not involve looking backwards instead of forwards, and Mr Bell! Well, he detests the hustle and bustle of Milton. He only cares for quietude and books; I hardly think him a natural companion for a man such as Mr Thornton.'

'What is this younger gentleman's name?' asked Margaret. Mr Hale frowned, looking over his note.

'Bell did not say, but as we shall meet the fellow this evening, I hardly think it signifies.'

'And he is a doctor?' asked Isabel, leaning forwards with interest.

'I believe so, my dear. I should imagine you will have much to speak on; no doubt Mr Bell has told his friend all about your peculiar talents; I'm sure he will have many ready questions for you.' This last discomposed Isabel greatly, for she had not a clear knowledge of which medical terms were used in Milton and which were only used beyond those pages. She had been fortunate in having only tended to injuries and the working poor, who did not ask for a medical diagnosis, but simply a remedy. Indeed, even when Mrs Hale had been in her final weeks, Dr Donaldson had pronounced his diagnosis with no reference to Isabel, so she was simply able to follow his example and use the same terminology as used by him. But a new doctor! Isabel knew not what to think, and could only hope that the gentleman would be so caught up in conversation with Mr Thornton, that he had not the chance to speak with her.

Isabel was greatly relieved, therefore, when Mr Thornton arrived for tea, ahead of Mr Bell and his guest. He was shown into the drawing-room, but upon seeing that the chairs had been rearranged to accommodate their additional guests, he took up a seat beside Isabel, leaving Mr Hale's guests from Oxford the advantage of sitting nearest to their host.

'It is Mr Bell and a young friend of his from Oxford,' explained Mr Hale. 'I know not the gentleman's name, but Bell thinks our Isabel will be quite taken with him, because he is a medical man, by all accounts.'

'Indeed,' frowned Mr Thornton, his cheeks darkening at the very thought of such a thing. He cast a furtive glance towards Isabel, and noticed the pink flush of discomfort, but could not rightly determine if she was unsettled by the suggestion for her sake, or for his.

The evening had begun poorly; Mr Thornton was immediately vexed and anxious to meet the Oxford doctor, and found himself barely capable of listening to his poor friend, as he spoke of a book he had been lately reading. Mr Thornton looked to the clock upon the mantle-piece and frowned, thinking Mr Bell really quite tardy, and as his impatience grew, it became palpable to Isabel, until she felt herself recoil from his presence. He saw - from the corner of his eye - that his demeanour had unsettled her, and attempted a small and easy smile, but he was out of practice, and could force no unfelt emotion before her - his heart being so very true to her - and the smile came out twisted, which only served to irritate him further.

At length, the guests came, and the jovial voice of Mr Bell sounded from beyond the door. Mr Thornton stood in greeting, and after exchanging a brisk handshake with his landlord, was swept past in favour of Isabel. Mr Thornton observed only too keenly, how Mr Bell presented himself to Isabel before his own goddaughter, and he was reminded of the gentleman's familiarity with her in the dressmaker's, when he had purchased her a gown for his mother's dinner. He tried not to dwell on it, and reasoned that Mr Bell had been close friends with Isabel's late father, and so it was only natural that he would feel a regard for her. And yet, there was something in the warmth of Mr Bell's greeting - something about the eyes and lips - which betrayed a greater pleasure in seeing Isabel again, than was had in seeing Margaret.

Next, that cool, assessing eye was placed upon the younger gentleman; now greeting Mr Hale. He looked - to Mr Thornton's mind - a little older than he; perhaps mid-thirty's, he thought, for although the face was free of lines, there was a slight greying to the temples, which, Mr Thornton was vexed to note, only served to make the gentleman look distinguished.

Mr Bell stood back from Margret, and smiled about the room, urging his friend forward.

'Well,' exclaimed he, clapping his hands together with excitement, 'This is my new friend, Dr Lyndhurst!' And he looked about the room, proudly. 'This is Miss Hale - my goddaughter,' began Mr Bell, but Mr Thornton noticed nothing of their introduction, for Isabel - stood beside him, in the corner of the room - was veritably trembling at the sight of the man.

'Miss Darrow?' asked Mr Thornton, softly, his voice laced with concern; his eyes warm and feeling. She looked directly at him, her hazel eyes meeting his in a silent plea, and she clutched at the small occasional table, as though her legs were about to give way.

'Isabel, my dear?' came Mr Bell's alarmed cry, as he saw her body slump slowly to her chair.

'It is nothing,' replied she, her voice low and unsteady. 'I merely stood too quickly. I am better now that I am seated.' Mr Bell considered her for a moment, but chose not to question her further, and instead turned anxiously to Margaret.

'Tea, my dear?'

'Of course!' And as Margaret poured the tea, and Mr Bell entertained Mr Hale and Dr Lyndhurst, Mr Thornton watched his Isabel. He had never seen a person so alarmingly discomposed. Certainly, he had seen his sister faint or fall into hysterics, but never had he seen such unbridled fear in a person's eyes, and in one so very strong! To see her tremble and her body flag, when she had stood fierce and erect before that angry mob! He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and crush her to his breast in comfort, but he could not. He was no fool; he sensed the cause of her discomfort to be the stranger amongst them; Dr Lyndhurst, and whether he knew it or not, he sat forward in his chair, positioning himself between his beloved and the doctor; his body offered as a barrier in her discomfiture.

He noted too, that Dr Lyndhurst looked upon Isabel a great deal, and he began to suspect some former acquaintance; the very notion of which lashed him into a fit of jealousy, and he could not prevent himself from turning to the gentleman and asking, -

'Dr Lyndhurst, have you lived in Oxford, always?' And the question came out almost as an accusation, but the man appeared unperturbed.

'Oh, no! I have travelled overseas a little in my research, but have lately been living in Kent. No, I only recently moved to Oxford, and it is likely to be a temporary arrangement as I study a patient there; some months perhaps, but not indefinitely,' smiled Dr Lyndhurst, good naturedly. Overseas! screamed Mr Thornton in his mind. And he naturally assumed - despite the world being vast - that Isabel and Dr Lyndhurst had met before.

And they had, as far as Isabel knew, but she was utterly bewildered. For here, she had lived these past months in Milton, and now before her was the very picture of Dr Lyndhurst, and from Kent, of all places! Arriving in Milton had been unsettling, but she had understood it; she had been - only the evening before her strange arrival - ruminating on that very possibility of such a thing, but to have now Dr Lyndhurst before her! She could not fathom it; not what it meant or how he came to be. All she could think on, was how wretched she had felt before she came to Milton, and now it seemed that her past and her present would collide, and she feared catastrophic consequences.

'You are studying a patient, sir?' asked Mr Thornton, his probing gaze still fixed intently upon the doctor.

'Indeed; I am a doctor of the mind; I study lunatics, sir, to learn more about the mind.' And at that pronouncement, Mr Thornton felt Isabel shudder beside him. Her reaction alarmed him, and once he saw Dr Lyndhurst taken up in conversation again by the Hales and Mr Bell, he turned slowly to look at Isabel. Her hands were clenched within her lap; her knuckles white peaks of tension. Her breathing came deep and fast, and her eyes fixed forward to some unseen point before her; glazed in their trance.

'And do they lock these poor people up, Dr Lyndhurst?' asked Margaret, in a soft, compassionate voice.

'Sadly, yes. The dangerous; those who are a danger to themselves; who cannot care for themselves and have no family to safely care for them.' And there, Mr Thornton saw the parting of Isabel's lips, as she spoke silently to herself, and as he watched closely, he thought he could see the voiceless words she spoke. "It is not real, Izzy! It is not real!" She swallowed deeply and shook her head, as though to shake off an unwelcome dream.

'And you work in these asylums?' asked Margaret; now a hint of disgust to her voice.

'Oh, no! I work with my patients to keep them from such institutions. No; people do not get better in such places; they are a veritable prison. If you were not mad before you went into such a place, you would be before long.'

'Oh!' gasped Margaret. 'It sounds dreadful.'

'It is unpleasant. Let us speak of something else, if it upsets you,' smiled the doctor, with gentlemanly understanding.

'Isabel? Are you feeling better, now that you are seated?' asked Mr Bell, solicitously.

'Yes - thank you,' came her stilted reply, as she dragged herself from that quagmire of ill-repose. But Mr Thornton was certain that she did not feel better. In truth, he was suspicious about the nature of their acquaintance. Upon first learning of the man, Mr Thornton had been jealous of some supposed shared interest. Then he had seen Isabel's reaction to the doctor, and thought perhaps they had met previously, and had a tempestuous history, but yet the doctor appeared so utterly unconcerned by her. How could it be!

'Miss Darrow,' smiled Dr Lyndhurst, rising slowly from his chair, and walking towards her with a kindly smile. He stopped before her and sipped at his tea, before placing the dainty cup back upon its saucer. 'My friend Mr Bell, tells me that you are a doctor?'

'Yes,' replied she, clearing her throat. He tilted his head to one side and looked at her assessingly, as though she was to him, a puzzle. His lips pursed in hesitation as he scrutinised her, and the next, he spoke softly; his voice a soothing balm.

'I would be very interested to see your endeavour - this infirmary you run for the mill workers - with Mr Thornton's approbation, of course,' added he, turning to smile upon that stern-faced gentleman.