"Did you know Mr. Holmes when he lived there?" "No. He was fourteen years old when we met at school." "The homestead is a pitiable wreck," continued Ida. "'A lonely tree and a desolated hearth!' he said. Those mournful words will haunt me." "His is a sad story. His parents died within a month of each other--one by the hand of violence, the other of a broken heart. He had lost a sister previously; a year later his brother went to sea, and ship nor passengers reached the port. It is now three years since the death of a younger sister, a lovely girl, of consumption. This train of misfortunes hangs upon Lynn's mind and heart. He will have it that he belongs to a doomed race. But for his warm social sympathies, and devotion to his art, the superstition would become a monomania." "You say his father died by violence; was he murdered?" "In cold blood." "Horrible! And the assassin?" "Walks the earth, an _honourable_ man! The sword of justice has no point for the duellist." "This heathenish practice is a disgraceful stain upon the escutcheon of our State," said Ida. "The laws are not in fault; popular prejudice does not sustain them." "If they would make me autocrat for one year I would pledge myself to abolish this system of double murdering," returned he. "How?" "Hang the survivor--" "What naughty words are you saying?" questioned Lynn, from Ida's elbow. "A slip of the tongue, which Miss Ida would not have noticed, but for your officiousness," answered Charley. "Did I tell you of Art.'s professional call last night? We were awakened by an uproarious hallooing at the gate. "'Who's there?' hailed Arthur. "'O doctor! for massy's sake, come to see my old woman! she's dyin'--I'm Jeemes Stiger--make haste--I reckon she's most done dead by this time;' and the poor fellow blubbered out. "'I'll be there in a minute,' said Art. 'Don't wait.' "In three minutes and a half his horse's hoofs were clattering down the road, as though Tam O'Shanter's witch were upon the crupper. I had confidence in his skill, and did not doubt he would try whatever could relieve 'Mrs. Jeemes Stiger,' but it was a ticklish case; the entire contents of his saddle-bags could not rescue her from the jaws of death, if he had indeed clamped her. I had resolved to postpone compassion for the bereaved husband, to the morning, and was forgetting everything in a doze, when the trampling of a horse aroused me. I threw up the window. It was Art. in as hot haste as when he set out. 'What is to pay?' said I, as he came in. 'Forgotten any thing--or is the woman dead?' "'Confound her!' "I knew he must be pretty 'tall' to say that. "'Never be a doctor, Charley.' "'I wont, my dear boy; but what is the matter?' "Why nothing--just nothing!' beginning to laugh. 'I galloped two miles like a race-rider, and ran into the house, expecting a scene of distress--perhaps of death. 'Mrs. Jeemes' was sitting up, rocking herself back and forth. I felt her pulse and inquired her symptoms.'