Excellent, Doctor Miles; you are keeping the poor man in a state of torture. Why will you preach, when you are not in the pulpit. But Doctor Miles was not a prosy man by nature; he was short, brief, and terse in his general conversation, and only preached when he was in embarrassment. That such was evidently the case at present greatly increased the evils of Mr. Wittingham's position; and when the doctor was talking of Christian charity, the sick magistrate was mentally sending him to a place where very little charity of any kind is supposed to be practised--not that we know any thing of the matter; for even in the present day, with steamboats, railroads, and all the appliances of human ingenuity to boot, tourists and travellers have not pushed their researches quite as far as the place alluded to; or, at all events, have not favoured the world with an account of their discoveries. After the above proem, Dr. Miles stumbled for a moment or two, and then recovering himself, continued thus: "The unfortunate affair which took place last night must doubtless give rise to legal inquiries, which will, depend upon it, be pursued with great energy and determination; for Captain Hayward, I find, followed the unhappy young man at once; and, if I judge rightly, he is not one to abandon his object when it is but half-attained." "Oh, that Captain Hayward, that Captain Hayward!" cried Wittingham, angrily, "he is always meddling with other people's affairs." "Nay, my dear Sir," answered Dr. Miles; "this was his affair, and the affair of every body in the room. The ball passed within an inch of his friend Mr. Beauchamp's head, and might have been intended for him--at least, so Captain Hayward might have supposed, had not your own exclamation at the moment--" "My exclamation!" cried Mr. Wittingham, with a look of horror, "what did I exclaim?" Doctor Miles did not answer him directly at first, replying merely, "you said enough, Mr. Wittingham, to show who it was, in your opinion, that had fired the shot." Mr. Wittingham clasped his hands together in an agony of despair and sunk with his head upon the pillow, as if he would fain have hid his face in the bed-clothes, but Dr. Miles went on kindly to say, "Moreover, my dear Sir, your exclamation was sufficient to make me feel for you deeply--to feel for you with sincere compassion, and to desire anxiously to serve and assist you." Now Mr. Wittingham was not accustomed to be compassionated; he did not like the thing and he did not like the word; he was a vain man and a proud man, and compassion was a humiliation which he did not like to undergo; but still anxiety and trouble were the strongest, and he repeated two or three times in a quick, sharp voice, "What did I say? What did I say?" "You said that it was your son," answered the clergyman, "and various corroborative circumstances have transpired which--"