was sinking.” At first, Hugh excused himself, almost with a fear that Dr. Hildyard’s opinion of his ability was a hallucination. Did some warning of the influence this incident was to have upon his future make him feel so strong a disinclination to meet the doctor’s wishes to-night, and visit his interesting patient with him? Oftentimes, in after years, he thought back, and asked himself that question, which none could answer. It was bad enough to be called upon to pronounce on a case which had been a perplexing one to Dr. Hildyard. It was only after further talk on the part of the doctor, who insisted on the fact of the peculiar insight Hugh had shown on various occasions being no credit to its owner—in fact, being perhaps somewhat of a drawback to the development of talents which were necessary to the making of a sound medical man, that the young surgeon gave way. Almost as soon as he had reluctantly consented, the butler announced that the carriage was at the door. “It is a mere stone’s-throw,” said Dr. Hildyard, as they drove through the lamplit streets. “We might have walked; but it is raining very fast now, and I promised to drive you back, if you remember.” Then he chatted away very fast till the brougham turned the corner and stopped before a tall house in a street leading out of a well-known West-end square. “Here we are,” said the doctor. “How is Miss Morton to-night?” he asked of the neat parlourmaid, who opened the door. “Oh, there is nurse!” A tall young lady, in the dark dress and picturesque cap and apron of a professional nurse, appeared on the first landing. “Come up,” said Dr. Hildyard to Hugh, running up the stairs. “Nurse, this is the medical friend I spoke about this morning.” Hugh followed the nurse and doctor, feeling as if in some strange dream. Truly, of late, his hitherto humdrum and monotonous life had changed—had utterly changed. “As if Fate had overlooked me—poor insignificant unit—until now, and had pounced upon me with a vengeance, and intent to make up for lost time,” he thought. They were conducted to a second-floor sitting-room—a comfortable room enough, with flowers and pretty knick-knacks about—while the nurse went into the next room, the sick chamber. Coming back, “She is quite ready,” she said, addressing Dr. Hildyard. “_You_ see her,” he said, shortly, to Paull. “Without you?” Hugh was astonished. “Certainly.” Dr. Hildyard sat down at the table and took up a newspaper that was lying there. There was a peremptoriness in his voice and manner which forbade Hugh’s further questioning. He paused a moment, then turned and followed the nurse into the next room. It was large, bright, airy, and cheerful, with its light maple furniture and white hangings. Coloured engravings of pleasant subjects hung on the walls. After the bare wards of the hospital, Hugh felt that it would be almost a luxury to go through an illness here.