It was Dr. Rane who was hurrying past now. He turned for an instant to the window, his brow clearing. For some time now a curious look of care and perplexity had sat upon it. "Indeed it is," he answered. "I hope it will last. Are you pretty well, Mrs. Gass?" "I'm first-rate," said that lady. "A fine day, with the wind in the north, always sets me up. Doctor, have they paid you the tontine money yet?" "No," said Dr. Rane, somewhat angrily. "There are all sorts of forms to be gone through, apparently; and the Brothers Ticknell do not hurry for any one. The two old men are past business, in my opinion. They were always slow and tiresome; it is something more than that now." "Do you stir 'em well up?" questioned Mrs. Gass. "When I have the chance of doing it; but that's very rarely. Go when I will, I can scarcely ever see any one except the confidential clerk, old Latham; and he is as slow and methodical as his master. I suppose the money will come sometime, but I am tired of waiting for it." "And what about your plans when you get it, doctor? Are they all cut and dried?" "Time enough to decide on them when I do get the money," replied the doctor, shortly. "But you still intend to leave Dallory Ham?" "Oh yes, I shall do that." "You won't be going to America?" "I think I shall. It is more than likely." "Well, I wouldn't banish myself from my native country for the best practice that ever shoes dropped into. You might be getting nothing but Red Indians for patients." Dr. Rane laughed a little; and there was an eager sort of light in his eyes that seemed to speak of anticipation and hope. Only he knew how thankful he would be to get to another country and find himself clear of this. "I wonder," soliloquized Mrs. Gass, as he walked on his way, "whether it is all straight-for'ard about that tontine money? Have the Ticknells heard any of these ugly rumours that's flying about; and are they keeping it back in consequence? If not, why it ought to have been paid over to him before this. The delay is odd--say the least of it. How d'ye do, sir? A nice day." A gentleman, passing, had raised his hat to Mrs. Gass. She resumed her reflections. "The rumours be spreading wider and getting uglier. They'll go up presently, like a bomb-shell. I'm heartily sorry for him; for I don't believe--no, I _don't_--that he'd do such a frightful thing. If it should turn out that he did--why, then I shall blame myself ever after for having procrastinated my intentions." Mrs. Gass paused, and began to go over those intentions, with a view, possibly, to seeing whether she was very much to blame.