“And a half a glass of port wine. And to-morrow it may be a whole glass.” Erminie nodded. “She will require no more medicine, only careful nursing and dieting,” said the doctor, turning to Justin. “I am very glad to hear you say so, Doctor Burney. Did you see indications of this favorable change when you visited her early this morning?” “Early this morning? I have not been here before this morning,” said the doctor, in some surprise. “Well, then, in the night, perhaps, I should rather say; as it was but a little past one o’clock when you called,” said Justin, correcting himself. “I called!” repeated the doctor. “Between one and two in the night,” explained Justin. “My dear sir, you are mistaken! I have not been here since six last evening,” said the doctor. “Indeed! Then who——” began Justin; but he immediately caught up his words. Here was a mystery; but it would never do to worry Erminie’s mind with it. So he paused. “Whatever could have made you think I was here in the night?” inquired the doctor. “It was a mistake, either of mine or somebody else’s,” evasively replied Justin. “But who said I was here?” persisted the doctor. “One of the servants, I believe, fancied that you had called.” “Which one?” “Old Bob.” “Oh, ah, he dreamed it! I was six miles from here between one and two o’clock. I was out at a diabolical old place called Witch Elms, attending the death-bed of an antediluvian old woman, named Miss Pole.” While Colonel Rosenthal and Doctor Burney conversed together, Erminie listened attentively, turning towards each as he spoke. Occasionally an arch smile played over her expressive features, as though she thought she could, if she pleased, explain the mystery that so puzzled her physician and her brother. But when she heard the name of the old lady at Witch Elms, she said: “I knew Miss Pole slightly. She was the great grand-aunt of my dear friend, Miss Conyers. I called at Witch Elms once. The reminiscence is not a pleasant one. Still I hope the old lady was well prepared for the last great change.” “I doubt it,” said the doctor. “She died very much as I imagine she had lived. And she left me two very strange commissions. The first was to deliver into the hands of Britomarte Conyers a certain packet not to be opened until after her funeral. The second was to forbid Miss Conyers from attending that funeral. I shall discharge both, before leaving the house this morning.” “Strange commissions, indeed. But then Miss Pole was a very strange woman.” “Yes. And now, my dear Miss Rosenthal, I think you have talked long enough. A new convalescent, like a newborn babe, has but two great duties to perform—to eat and sleep alternately. Here comes our good Catherine with your chicken broth. So we will now leave you to discuss _that_, the most wholesome subject that can occupy your thoughts just now. And so saying, the doctor smiled and bowed and walked out of the room, accompanied by Justin.