“Mrs. Tarbot,” she cried, shaking hands with her. “I am glad you have come, but what can I do for you?” “I am here on a painful business,” said Clara. “I am, as you know, a doctor’s wife, but I would rather have the opinion of one who is not related to me. I have been unwell for some time.” “You look very bad.” “My lungs are, I know, affected. Will you tell me how seriously they are involved?” Dr. Mary Murchison promised to comply. She brought her stethoscope, Clara bared her chest, and the doctor listened attentively. After a moment or two she put down the stethoscope and looked full at Dr. Tarbot’s wife. “Well?” said Clara. Still Dr. Murchison did not speak. “The truth, please,” said Clara again. “You are very ill, Mrs. Tarbot.” “You mean that I am dying?” “Well, yes, I do mean it. Both your lungs are affected, one extensively, but both are affected.” “How long?” asked Clara. “A few months, not longer.” “There is no remedy?” “None.” “Thank you very much. I must return home now,” said Clara. “But take care of yourself. You did wrong to come out in the night air. How mad Dr. Tarbot must be not to have discovered this long ago! He ought to have sent you to a warmer climate.” “It doesn’t matter,” said Clara. “I thank you for telling me the truth.” She shook hands with Dr. Murchison and left the house. She had not been absent from her own house more than half an hour, and as she reentered the house Tarbot met her. “You were out,” he said. “Where were you?” “I went to see my friend, Dr. Mary Murchison.” “What about?” “I was asking her advice. I am not quite well, Luke.” “I have noticed that,” he said slowly. He looked at her with his cruel eyes. It seemed to her then that they danced as if with malevolent satisfaction. “I will speak to you presently about your health,” he said. “You may want a warmer climate. I have noticed that cough. Don’t go out again at night—it is unwise. I will have a talk with you when I return from Devonshire.” He nodded to her. She made no answer, but went up-stairs to the drawing-room and sat down in her chair once more by the fire. Once or twice she coughed feebly; the cough gave her acute pain, she put her hand to her thin chest; then, taking up a heavy Oriental shawl she wrapped it round her figure. As she was doing so, some one tapped her on the shoulder, and she looked up with a start. Little Mrs. Ives was standing before her.