"A lady who happened to be staying in the house came and drew the girl away into one of the sitting-rooms, and I went upstairs. I found Heathcote in his own room. He was lying on the bed--he was a ghastly sight. His face wore the sick hue of death itself; the sheet, his hair, and even his face were all covered with blood. His wife was standing over him, wiping away the blood, which oozed from his lips. I saw, of course, immediately what was the matter. Hemoptysis had set in, and I felt that his hours were numbered. "'He has broken a blood vessel,' exclaimed Mrs. Heathcote. 'He was standing here, preparing to go down to dinner, when he coughed violently--the blood began to pour from his mouth: I got him on the bed and sent for you. The hemorrhage seems to be a little less violent now.' "I examined my patient carefully, feeling his pulse, which was very weak and low; I cautioned him not to speak a single word, and asked Mrs. Heathcote to send for some ice immediately. She did so. I packed him in ice and gave him a dose of ergotine. He seemed easier, and I left him, promising to return again in an hour or two. Miss Gabrielle met me in the hall as I went out. "'Is he any better? Is there any hope at all?' she asked, as I left the house. "'Your father is easier now,' I replied; 'the hemorrhage has been arrested. I am coming back soon. You must be a good girl and try to comfort your mother in every way in your power.' "'Then there is no hope?' she answered, looking me full in the face. "I could not truthfully say that there was. I knew poor Heathcote's days were numbered, although I scarcely thought the end would come so quickly." "What do you mean?" I inquired. "Why this," he replied. "Less than an hour after I got home, I received a brief note from Mrs. Heathcote. In it she stated that fresh and very violent hemorrhage had set in almost immediately after I left, and that her husband was dead." "And--" I continued. "Well, that is the story. Poor Heathcote had died of hemoptysis." "Did you see the body after death?" I inquired, after a pause. "No--it was absolutely unnecessary--the cause of death was so evident. I attended the funeral, though. Heathcote was buried at Kensal Green." I made no comment for a moment or two. "I am sorry you did not see the body after death," I said, after a pause. My remark seemed to irritate Mackenzie. He looked at me with raised brows. "Would you have thought it necessary to do so?" he asked. "A man known to be consumptive dies of violent hemorrhage of the lungs. The family are in great trouble--there is much besides to think of. Would you under the circumstances have considered it necessary to refuse to give a certificate without seeing the body?" I thought for a moment. "I make a rule of always seeing the body," I replied; "but, of course, you were justified, as the law stands. Well, then, there is no doubt Heathcote is really dead?"