“Mr. Randolph! What has happened?” “It’s my wife, doctor, my poor wife! I don’t know if she will be alive when we get there. I would not trust any one but myself to come for you in this storm.” “A poor compliment to human nature,” thought Dr. Richards, “and a bitter commentary on the happiness of the rich. Metzerott, here, could find twenty to serve him in such a strait; but they are not hirelings.” Perhaps twenty self-devoted friends was rather a large proportion for even a poor man; but Dr. Richards had been four hours on the road, and was nearly frozen, so his exaggeration may be forgiven, especially as he was on his horse before the reflection had passed through his mind. At the first sound of Mr. Randolph’s voice, Sally had re-opened the shop door, which she had closed behind her, and called out, “Cup o’ coffee, Polly; be spry!” and as the doctor was about to ride away, there it was at his elbow, black, fragrant, and steaming hot. He swallowed it hastily, though he said afterwards that he could have dallied over every spoonful, like an old maid over her afternoon tea, so good it tasted. Then he disappeared with Henry Randolph into the storm. The coffee would have been doubly relished had Dr. Richards known it would be his sole physical support and sustenance until noon of the same day. He had sent his tired horse home by a man-servant immediately upon reaching Mr. Randolph’s; but it was late in the afternoon before Alice, who had been watching anxiously, saw him walk wearily up the street towards the house. She had the door open before he reached it. The snow-storm had ceased, in consequence of a sudden fall in the temperature, and the brilliant sunshine on the white garment of Mother Earth, which the rude, irreverent wind was tossing in huge folds hither and thither, seemed to trouble the doctor’s eyes; for Alice noticed that he shaded them with his hand as he came towards her, and that they had a strained, dazed expression when he had entered the study, into which, with many loving words, she tenderly drew him. “You walked home, dear! How imprudent! I sent John to ask if you wanted the buggy.” “I sent him on to Dr. Harrison, who took my rounds for me to-day—happily, for I am fit for nothing now. One of Harrison’s horses is laid up, and the other is not able for double work such weather as this.” “It is frightfully cold, and—oh, my darling! what a condition you are in!” “Well,” said the doctor philosophically, “when a man has had snow drifting down the back of his neck and his boots, and settling everywhere about his person that it lawfully could settle, for about fourteen hours, and then it has melted and dried on him, he has a right to be in a condition.” “I am afraid he will have a right to be ill if he keeps up that sort of thing,” said Alice. “But how is poor Jennie? Henry was in a terrible way about her this morning, but I have seen her in so many of these attacks”—