It was now about a year since Mr. Max Brown had thus established himself; and he had done very fairly. If his practice did not afford a promise that he would speedily become a millionaire, it at least was sufficient to keep him. And to keep him well. Mr. Brown had himself been born and reared in as crowded a part of London as this, somewhere towards Clerkenwell, therefore the locality did not offend his tastes. He anticipated remaining in it for good, and had not the slightest doubt that his practice would steadily increase, and afford him a carriage and a better house in time. The tradespeople around, though far below those of Bond Street in the social scale, were tradespeople of sufficient substance, and could afford to pay Mr. Brown. He was a little dark man, of affable nature and manners, clever in his profession, liked by his patients, and winning his way more surely amongst them day by day. In the midst of this humble prosperity a check occurred. Not to the prosperity, but to Mr. Brown's plans and projects. Several years before, his elder brother had gone to the West Indies, and his widowed mother and his sister had subsequently followed him out. The sister had married there. The brother, Kenneth Brown, was for some years successful manager of a planter's estate; he now managed one of his own. Altogether they were extremely prosperous; and the only one of the family left in England, Max, received pleasant letters from them by each fortnightly mail, and was quite at ease with regard to them. It therefore took him completely by surprise in the midst of this ease, to find himself suddenly summoned to Jamaica. One day in this same hot summer, early in the month of June--for we must go back two or three weeks in our story--Mr. Brown, having completed his morning round of calls on patients, stood behind his counter making up the physic required by them, and waiting for his queer old maid-servant, Eve, to come and tell him his one-o'clock dinner was ready. The door stood open to the hot street, and to the foot-passengers traversing the pavement; and Sam, the young boy, was waiting at the opposite counter with his covered basket until the physic should be ready. "That's all to-day, Sam," said his master, pleasantly, as he folded the white paper round the last bottle, and motioned to the lad to bring the basket forward. "And, look here"--showing one of the packets--"this is for a fresh place, Number 26, you see, in The Walk. It's a grocer's shop." "All right, sir. I shall find it." "Maximilian Brown, Esq.," interrupted a voice at this juncture. It was that of the postman. He came in at the open door, and read out the address of the letter--his usual custom--as he put it down. "Oh, the mail's in, I see," observed the doctor to him. "Yes, sir."