Although it was a warm day, the wretched creature shivered as he came down the path, and blinked his eyes constantly in the unaccustomed sunshine. For so many years he had lived in that darkened room, that the access of light and the keen air rendered him uncomfortable. He was wrapped up as though it were winter, and crawled feebly along with the aid of a staff. With his pallid face, loose mouth, and red-rimmed eyes, he looked a most pitiable object, and Dan secretly wondered that this decrepit wreck should be the father of so splendid a specimen of womanhood as Meg. "A most undesirable father-in-law," said Dan to himself, as he went forward to assist his visitor. "But there is one comfort--he cannot live much longer. Even now he looks as though about to tumble into his grave." In order to pay this visit Merle had evidently omitted to take his usual dose of laudanum; but in place of such abstinence rendering his brain clear, it made him weak and irritable. The sudden cessation of the drug unstrung his nerves and clouded his intellect, so that he sank on the log, to which Dan conducted him, in a state of mental and physical collapse. His breath came in quick gasps, his hands trembled, and his lean body shook as with the palsy. In all his experience, Dan had never seen so degenerate a specimen of the human race. Much as he despised him, yet he could not refrain from pitying the creature. He was so weak and prostrate and broken up. All this time Merle said nothing, his whole attention being taken up in getting himself settled. When on the log, he coughed, and wiped the perspiration off his brow, and shivered and shook, until able to speak. It was quite five minutes before he could do so, and all the time Dan, after a brief word of welcome, held his peace, and eyed his visitor with strong curiosity. "Ow, ow!" coughed Merle, weakly. "What a hill that is to climb! I haven't climbed one for years. Why do you live in this out-of-the-way place? It is quite a journey from my house." "Why did you not send word that you wished to see me, Dr. Merle?" said Dan, gently. "Had you done so I should have called at your house, and so saved you the journey." "I didn't want you to call, young man. Meg would have asked the reason of your visit, and I do not wish her to know what I have to say." "Indeed! Does it then concern her?" said Dan, anxiously. "No! It has nothing to do with her," retorted Merle, querulously; "why should it? I wish to speak of myself, and of Miss Linisfarne, and of you." "Well, and what have you to say?" asked Dan, guessing from this speech that the errand had something to do with the rumours pervading Farbis. "You must not be offended, young man." "I can safely promise you that," said Dan, with veiled contempt; "nothing you could say would offend me. Pray proceed, Dr. Merle! I am all attention." "It is said that you are in love with Miss Linisfarne!" "So I have heard before."