The poor woman was too bewildered to make head or tail of it, and whether the reader give herself the pains to peruse it or no is indifferent, for its contents in no way affect this powerful and moving tale. “Madame,” he said when she lifted her eyes from it and as he fondly imagined had mastered its details,--“you do not perhaps see the con-nection.” Her face assured him that she did not. “Neither,” he added grandiloquently, “did the world, until I perceived that if indeed such functions attached to Caryll’s Ganglia, why the least obstruction of their ducts would condemn the sufferer to occasional violent pain accompanied by such inability to refrain from expression as must ruin his career and ultimately make a wreck of his bodily frame. Madame, cases of such obstruction I hev found to hev occurred in the ducts. Madame, _I_ discovered by what slight touch of the lancet the tiny _im_pediment could be instantly removed. Madame,” he continued, “the Caryll’s ducts in Sir Charles’ head are ob-structed, hence the recurrent pain and the lamentable attack of VERACITITIS from which he in-dub-it-ab-ly suffers.” “Velossy what?” gasped Lady Repton. “_Veracititis_, Ma’am. The phrase is my own; for it is I who have identified the relation between the ganglia and the distressing symptoms you have observed. He stands before you, _he_ does. Madame, it is already enshrined in the proofs of the Columbia Encyclopedia”--he dived once more into his bag and handed her yet another paper--“as _Veracititis Knickerbockeriensis_. In Ontario since Washington’s Birthday, we hev hed three cases; I was called over privately a month ago for a most distressing case, luckily suppressed--never hurd of, Madame, outside the family. I hev operated with success. Ma’am, I can operate with success upon your husband.” At this moment a loud scream of pain from the next room, followed by a gasp of relief and the expletive “Great Cæsar’s Ghost!” almost decided Sir Charles’ faithful spouse. Another scream that proved the spasms to be increasing in violence quite decided her. She hurriedly re-entered the dining-room, found Sir Charles white with the severity of the suffering, and took him gently by the hand. “Darling,” she said, “I have a practitioner who can relieve this. He is waiting for you.” “Oh,” sighed Sir Charles, as the pain left him, “I’m glad to hear it, profoundly glad. They’re all such scoundrels, Maria, ... but if he’s a surgeon and can cut something out, I’ll trust him.” “It won’t be as bad as that,” said Maria, tenderly helping the Baronet out through the small door towards the inner room. Hardly had he set his eyes on the little doctor when he burst into a hearty laugh. “What a ridiculous little ass, Maria!” he said at the top of his voice. “Good lord, what a little rat!”