“Do you recollect taking the letters to the post, on Friday afternoon?” he inquired. “On Friday?” mused Arthur, who could not at the moment recollect much about that particular day’s letters; it was he who generally posted them for the office. “Oh yes, I do remember, sir,” he replied, as the relative circumstances flashed across him. Mr. Galloway looked at him, possibly doubting whether he really did remember. “How many letters were there for the post that afternoon?” he asked. “Three,” promptly rejoined Arthur. “Two were for London, and one was for Ventnor.” “Just so,” assented Mr. Galloway. “Now, then, to whom did you intrust the posting of those letters?” “I did not intrust them to any one,” replied Arthur; “I posted them myself.” “You are sure?” “Quite sure, sir,” answered Arthur, in some surprise. But Mr. Galloway said no more, and gave no reason for his inquiry. He turned into his own house, which was situated near the cloister gates, and Arthur went on home. Had you been attending worship in Helstonleigh Cathedral that same afternoon, you might have observed, as one of the congregation, a tall stout man, with a dark, sallow face, and grey hair. He sat in a stall near to the Reverend William Yorke, who was the chanter for the afternoon. It was Dr. Lamb. A somewhat peculiar history was his. Brought up to the medical profession, and taking his physician’s degree early, he went out to settle in New Zealand, where he had friends. Circumstances brought him into frequent contact with the natives there. A benevolent, thoughtful man, gifted with much Christian grace, the sad spiritual state of these poor heathens gave the deepest concern to Dr. Lamb. He did what he could for them in his leisure hours, but his profession took up most of his time: often did he wish he had more time at his command. A few years of hard work, and then the wish was realized. A small patrimony was bequeathed him, sufficient to enable him to live without work. From that time he applied himself to the arduous duties of a missionary, and his labours were crowned with marked success. Next came illness. He was attacked with rheumatism in the joints; and after many useless remedies had been tried, he came home in search of health, which he found, as you have heard, in certain German spas. Mr. Channing watched the clock eagerly. Unless it has been your portion, my reader, to undergo long and apparently hopeless affliction, and to find yourself at length unexpectedly told that there _may_ be a cure for you; that another, afflicted in a similar manner, has been restored to health by simple means, and will call upon you and describe to you what they were--you could scarcely understand the nervous expectancy of Mr. Channing on this afternoon. Four o’clock! they would soon be here now.