"Well, well, I think so," said the great man, unbending somewhat as he arranged his cuffs and brushed off an imaginary speck of dust. He then felt the patient's pulse for a few moments, nodded with a satisfied air, said a few words to the chief of his staff, bowed once more, and by the time the hospital-dressers had finished their task and the patient was lifted back upon his portable conch, the operator was in the brougham waiting in the street. Then came once more the murmuring buzz of voices, the reaction and the pallor tried to be laughed down, the porters, and then in a few minutes old Matt was once more in his bed and comfortably arranged before he recovered consciousness. The house-surgeon and an assistant were beside his bed as he opened his eyes and stared vacantly about, trying to recall what had taken place. "How sick and faint--what a nasty dream!" he muttered; "but I don't know, sir,--been as well if it had been true." "What would?" said the surgeon, smiling. "Why, I dreamed, sir, that--why, so it was--so it was, then," muttered the old man fervently; "thank God, thank God!" A calm heavy sleep soon fell upon Matt, but he was not free from trouble then. There was the entry continually worrying him; now he knew he had seen it, now he felt that it was only a dream, or a dream within a dream. At last, though, a change came over the scene, and all was prosperity; he had entered into partnership with Septimus Hardon, and purchased the copyright of the Times, whose columns they regularly filled every day with a complete exposure of Doctor Hardon. But the dream was not founded upon fact, for Septimus Hardon, with hope in his breast, had been to the entrance of the hospital, thinking that now Matt was so much better he would perhaps be ready with some information. But the visitor had been told of the operation, and the old man's present critical state, while being advised not to see him at that visit; and receiving a promise that a message should be sent in the event of a change for the worse, Septimus Hardon slowly, and sadly disheartened, returned to his law-copying. END OF VOLUME TWO. Volume Three, Chapter I. THE BREAKING OF A BARRIER. It was about this time that Aunt Fanny, in the large room at Surrey-street, took to complaining of her neck, and wore a narrow strip of flannel beneath the stiff white-muslin kerchief, while night and morn her servant had to rub the said neck with hartshorn and oil. And truly the old dame's neck was stiff, and cold might have had some share in producing the stiffness; but undoubtedly it was principally caused by the many sage shakes she gave her head when pondering over her nephew's state; for in spite of all the medicaments which he patiently allowed her to administer, the old lady effected no cure, and was in consequence sorely troubled in her own mind.