“I see the old times as I lie here,” said Dr. Follett. A meditative, gentle look stole the anxiety and some of the age out of his face. “Yes,” he continued, speaking in a dreamy tone, “the past rises before me. I see a picture. There are three people in the picture, Anthony, your mother, you. Our house is full of sunshine. Your mother is proud of her children, and I am proud of your mother and of the children. The picture is very vivid, it is almost like a vision, it fills the whole of my gaze. I see the room where we sit in the evening. I see people flitting about. I see our morning-room with the sunshine on it; there is your mother’s gentle face, there is Anthony like a young eagle, all romance, chivalry—a daring boy, a splendid lad. I see you full of courage, but pretty, soft, with hair like the sun. Yes, it is a lovely picture; it rests me, it supports me. Ah, but it is changing—your mother’s place is empty, she no longer sits by the fire, or takes the head of the table. She has gone. I am in one sense alone, but still I live, for Anthony lives, and you live, and I work for you, and my profession abounds with interest and it absorbs me. Here is another picture coming on fast. I see my consulting-room; here come the patients; I give them five minutes each, and I drop the golden sovereigns into my drawer, fast, faster and faster. I am a very successful doctor. You remember all about my success, don’t you?” “Yes, yes, you were grand, magnificent in those days,” said Nancy. She had raised her head now; her tears had dried on her cheeks. “Yes, as you say, I was magnificent,” repeated the old man, “but don’t interrupt me; I still see the picture. Patients think a lot of me—I am spoken well of by my colleagues, I am consulted by local practitioners. People come from distant lands to see me and to get my opinion. My opinion is golden. I feel myself something like a god; I can dispense life, I can issue the dread fiat of death. Here is a patient who comes from China. All the long way from the flowery land the wretched man has come to consult me. I seem to see the long voyage and the despair at the man’s heart, and now I behold the hope which animates him. He has a tumour, horrible, unsightly, a ghastly thing, a protuberance from the very home of Satan himself, but I remove it by my knife and by my skill, and the man recovers. Look at him! He is blessing me, and he is offering me the half of all his worldly possessions. Oh! how he has suffered, but I have relieved him. I have lifted him from hell to paradise. Yes, I am a great doctor. How beautiful, how absorbingly interesting is this picture of the golden past!” Dr. Follett’s voice dropped—the animation went out of it.