A tall, slender, and very handsome man, younger than Dr. Rane, opened the door slowly. There was a peculiar refinement in his proud fair features; a dreamy look in his dark blue eyes. An attractive face at all times and seasons, whose owner it was impossible to mistake for anything but an upright, well-bred gentleman. It was Arthur Bohun; Captain Bohun, as he was very generally called. He was the only son of Mrs. North by her former marriage with Major Bohun, and of course stepson to Mr. North. "Any admittance, doctor?" "Always admittance to you," answered the doctor, who could be affable or not, as suited his mood. "Why don't you come in?" He came in with his pleasant smile; a smile that hid the natural pride of the face. Oliver Rane put down the newspaper. "Well, is there any change in Edmund North?" "The very slightest in the world, the doctors think; and for the better," replied Captain Bohun. "Dick told me. I have not been in myself since early morning. I cannot bear to look on extreme suffering." A ghost of a smile flitted across Dr. Rane's features at the avowal. He could understand a woman disliking to look on suffering, but not a man. And the one before him had been a soldier! Captain Bohun sat down on an uncomfortable wooden stool as he spoke, gently throwing back his light summer overcoat. He imparted the idea of never being put out over any earthly thing. The movement displayed his cool white waistcoat, across which fell a dainty gold chain with its transparent sapphire seal of rare and costly beauty. "You have begun summer early!" remarked the doctor, glancing at Captain Bohun's attire. The clothes were of a delicate shade of grey; looking remarkably cool and nice in conjunction with the white waistcoat. Captain Bohun was always well dressed; it seemed a part of himself. To wear the rude and rough attire that some men affect nowadays, would have been against his instincts. "Don't sit on that stool of penitence; take the patient's chair," said the doctor, pointing to an elbow-chair opposite the window. "But I am not a patient." "No. Or you'd be at the opposition shop over the way." Arthur Bohun laughed. "It was of the opposition shop I came to speak to you--if I came for anything in particular, Where's Alexander? Is he keeping out of the way; or has he really gone to London as people say?" "I know nothing about him," returned Dr. Rane. "Look here--I was reading the account they give in the newspaper. Is this last hint true?"--holding out the journal--"that a clue has been obtained to the writer of the letter?" Arthur Bohun ran his eyes over the sentence to which the doctor's finger pointed. "No, this has no foundation," he promptly answered. "At least so far as the Hall is concerned. As yet we have not found any clue whatever." "I thought so. These newsmongers put forth lies by the bushel. Just as we might do, if we had to cater for an insatiably curious public. But I fear I must be going out."