With a quiet tread he walked to the side of his patient, and stooping down over him felt his pulse, pulled up his eyelids, drew down the coverings, and laid his hand on his heart, then placed his own cool palm on the sick man's forehead. Then leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece, he proceeded to question Dolly. "How long has he been ill?" "Several weeks. I cannot now remember how many," she answered, making a movement as if to leave the room. "He won't hear us," said the doctor. "You need not trouble yourself about that. Some one has been attending him, I suppose?" "Yes," she answered, "but not in this neighbourhood; we have only just come here." "So the cabman told me," he replied. "Has he," indicating Mortomley with a turn of his head, "been living low?" "He has had everything the doctor told me to give him." "Beef-tea, wine, and so forth?" "Yes, all sorts of wine, and everything we could think of or imagine." "Just as I supposed," remarked the doctor. "And medicine, of course, draughts and drops, and those sort of things?" "Yes; all that was ordered." "And how does it happen a man in his state of health was out at such a time of night--out, in fact, at all?" asked the doctor suddenly. "Because where we lived was killing him," Dolly answered; "because a dear friend wanted to take us to Brighton with her. And--and--well if I must tell you, other members of her family did not make us welcome when we got to her house in London, and I was obliged to bring him here." "That is right," he said, nodding approvingly. "Always tell the truth to your doctor. In return I will be frank with you. What your husband wants is not so much wine, or meat, or change, or anything of that sort usually recommended, but sleep. If he can rest, and I think he can, that may save him; but I tell you candidly his recovery will be tedious, and nothing except rest _can_ save him. Good night. I will not send you any medicine at present, but I will look round early in the morning, and see what sort of a night he has passed." And he held out his hand and departed, and Dolly was left alone. When she paid the cabman for his second journey she gave him a letter, and put him upon honour to post it at some pillar-box where the collections were made at three in the morning. That letter, written hurriedly and directed in pencil, ran as follows:-- "Thursday night. "Dear Esther,--I have decided _not_ to go with Mrs. Werner to Brighton. Directly you receive this, please send Susan to Mrs. Baker's. You know the address. I will try to get over to Homewood to-morrow, but cannot do so till Susan comes here. Mr. Mortomley is very ill. Do not mention where we are to any one till I have seen you. "Yours, "D. MORTOMLEY."