Meadowes leant against the wall, breathing hard after the struggle. ‘Stop—one moment, Shepley,’ he said, ‘I—I would speak with you; Anne Champion, if I can find her, shall want for naught.’ ‘She wants for naught now,’ said Shepley shortly. ‘But,’ interposed Meadowes, ‘I should be the man to provide for her, I looked to do that always, I had indeed no intention——’ ‘Anne Champion is dead,’ said Shepley slowly, pausing for a moment on the threshold. ‘Anne is dead, and her blood be upon you and upon your children.’ PART II ‘_He that hath a wife and children hath given_ _hostages to Fortune._’ CHAPTER X The war was ended, the Peace of Utrecht signed, and what remained of our armies after the twelve years’ conflict was free to come home once more. With the soldiers came back the surgeons, to practise in peace the suggestive proficiency they had gained in war-time; and cleverest among them all was Dr. Sebastian Shepley. Like all successful doctors, Shepley owed something to his personality. There was that in him which inspired others with a sense of his capacity. Not very much of a gentleman, but very much of a man; of gigantic size and easy rough address, he suggested all that was most cheerful and prosperous in life. Shepley had been through half the campaigns of the war, and now that peace was proclaimed he had the good luck to obtain an appointment under the then celebrated Dr. Joseph Barrington of Harley Street, Surgeon in Ordinary to his newly ascended Majesty King George the First. The appointment was a fortunate one for Shepley; but perhaps it was not quite so fortunate for Barrington, who found ere long that Sebastian Shepley was likely to prove an Absalom who would steal away the hearts of fashionable London from himself. But Barrington was very magnanimous—strangely magnanimous,—and seemed rather to like than to dislike the praises that were heaped upon the young man. The reason of his magnanimity was not very far to seek, nor had he any false delicacy in telling Shepley of it; for, as they sat together one day, the older man gave it as his opinion that marriage was a prudent step for a young man to take before taking up a practice. ‘You should in truth be looking out for a wife, Shepley,’ he concluded, and he gave a suggestive cough. ‘Some day, mayhap, sir, some day,’ said Shepley. His face fell suddenly into a half hard, half tragical expression, very foreign to that it generally wore, and he passed his hand quickly across his lips. Barrington, a keen observer of faces, gave a sharp glance at him for a moment. ‘Such wounds, Shepley, are best treated not too tenderly,’ he said. ‘It but keeps them open.’ ‘There may be truth in that you say, sir, but it goes against nature,’ said Shepley.