Mr. Thacker then produced a letter from his pocket-book, and read the following passage: "You know, my dear guardian, notwithstanding my foreign extraction and half-foreign bringing-up, the horror I have always had of French doctors; and it is certain I should have been left to the mercy of some of these dreadful creatures, if it had not been for Lucy Elliott, who is a fellow-pupil of mine at the Conservatoire, and who knew Dr. Hudson, who is our great English physician over here. She came and saw me when I was first taken ill, and promised to send Dr. Hudson to me. Within an hour he was by my bedside; and I can never express to any one his kindness and attention. He asked me, without the smallest impertinent curiosity, about myself; and when I told him that I was all alone in Paris, and had no relations on whom I could depend, he shook his head, and said it was absolutely necessary that I should have some one to nurse me. I suggested Sister Agatha, who used to come and see us so often at the _pension_, and who, I know, is a skilled and practised nurse; but Dr. Hudson said he thought he could do better than Sister Agatha for me, and that he would try to get an English widow lady of his acquaintance to come and nurse me."--("Ah, ha! you start, Yeldham, my friend! Hold on a bit, my boy; the scent's only just warming yet; hold on a bit longer.")--"I went to sleep after Dr. Hudson left me; and when I woke that evening I found a stranger sitting by my side. A tall elegant young woman, very young still, but looking as though she had seen a great deal of sorrow; for her beautiful face--I can't explain to you how wonderfully beautiful it is, so calm and classical and statuesque--is marked here and there with deep lines, and there is a gravity about her which I am sure has been brought on by mental suffering. She motioned me to keep silent, and then told me, in O such a sweet voice, that I was to be quite quiet, and that she had come to nurse me and attend upon me, and under God's help get me well again. From that night until now--she has only just gone away, and she will be back this evening, though I scarcely require any assistance now--she has been my best and dearest friend, my nurse, my consoler, my sister. In all that dreadful fever I had the sense of her constant presence, knew the touch of her cool hands to my hot head, recognised the cheering tone of her voice, when, in my pain and misery, I could scarcely see her. To her and my kind Dr. Hudson I owe my life; and as I know, my dear guardian, that you are good enough to prize that life, I am sure you will be grateful to these good friends. And here I come to a point where I require your advice and assistance. I told Dr. Hudson that though I was only a struggling pupil at the Conservatoire, I had connections in England who, I was sure, would take care that his kindness to me was not forgotten. I presumed so much, my dear guardian; for I felt certain that your