"I am satisfied, brother; I exact no oaths. Kate, my child, your uncle will take my place. I leave you in his hands." Then in a low voice, heard only by her who clung to him, weeping silently, he whispered softly, "And in Thine, O God." The next morning the blinds were all down in front of Number 204, Bedford Square, which looked at its gloomiest in the wet fog, with the withered leaves falling fast from the great plane trees; and the iron shutters were half drawn up at the bank in Lothbury, for the old leather-covered chair in the director's rom was vacant, waiting for a new occupant--the chairman of the Great British and Bengalie Joint Stock Bank was dead. "As good and true a man as ever breathed," said the head clerk, shaking his grey head; "and we've all lost a friend. I wonder who will marry Miss Kate!" CHAPTER TWO. "Morning, Doctor. Hardly expected to find you at home. Thought you'd be on your rounds." The speaker was mounted on a rather restive cob, which he now checked by the gate of the pretty cottage in one of the Northwood lanes; and as he spoke he sprang down and placed his rein through the ring on the post close by the brass plate which bore the words--"Pierce Leigh, M.D., Surgeon, etc.," but he did not look at the ring, for his eyes gave a furtive glance at the windows from one to the other quickly. He was not a groom, for his horse-shoe pin was set with diamonds, and a large bunch of golden charms hung at his watch chain, but his coat, hat, drab breeches, and leggings were of the most horsey cut, and on a near approach anyone might have expected to smell stables. As it was, the odour he exhaled was Jockey Club, emanating from a white pocket handkerchief dotted with foxes' heads, hunting crops and horns, and saturated with scent. "My rounds are not very regular, Mr Wilton," said the gentleman addressed, and he looked keenly at the commonplace speaker, whose ears stood out widely from his closely-cropped hair. "You people are dreadfully healthy down here," and he held open the garden gate and drew himself up, a fairly handsome, dark, keen-eyed, gentlemanly-looking man of thirty, slightly pale as if from study, but looking wiry and strong as an athlete. "You wished to see me?" "Yes. Bit off my corn. Headache, black spots before my eyes, and that sort of thing. Thought I'd consult the Vet." "Will you step in?" "Eh? Yes. Thankye." The Doctor led the way into his flower-decked half-study, half-consulting room, where several other little adornments suggested the near presence of a woman; and the would-be patient coughed unnecessarily, and kept on tapping his leg with the hunting crop he carried, as he followed, and the door was closed, and a chair was placed for him.