“Look here, my good girl; I am going to write a prescription for something which I think will do our patient good. Will you take it for me, and get the medicine made up?” The girl looked at him with an appealing glance in her mournful eyes. “I don’t like to leave him, sir.” “But if it’s for his good, my dear?” “Yes, yes, sir. You’re very kind. I will go. I can run all the way. And you won’t leave him while I’m gone, will you, sir?” “No, my good girl, I won’t. There, there; here’s the prescription. It’s written in pencil, but the assistant will understand it. Now listen, while I tell you where to find the surgery.” He gave her the direction; and after a lingering and mournful look at her lover, who still slept, she left the house, and darted off in the direction of Slopperton. “If she runs as fast as that all the way,” said Jabez, as he watched her receding figure, “she will be back in less than an hour.” “Then she will find him either past all help, or better,” replied the doctor. Jabez’ pale face turned white as death at this word “better.” “Better!” he said. “Is there any chance of his recovery?” “There are wonderful chances in this race between life and death. This sleep may be a crisis. If he wakes, there may be a faint hope of his living.” Jabez’ hand shook like a leaf. He turned his back to the doctor, walked once up and down the room, and then asked, with his old calmness,-- “And you, sir--you, whose time is of such value to so many sick persons--you can afford to desert them all, and remain here, watching this man?” “His case is a singular one, and interests me. Besides, I do not know that I have any patient in imminent danger to-night. My assistant has my address, and would send for me were my services peculiarly needed.” “I will go out and smoke a cigar,” said Jabez, after a pause. “I can scarcely support this sick room, and the suspense of this terrible conflict between life and death.” He strode out into the darkness, was absent about five minutes, and returned. “Your cigar did not last long,” remarked the doctor. “You are a quick smoker. Bad for the system, sir.” “My cigar was a bad one. I threw it away.” Shortly afterwards there was a knock at the door, and a ragged vagabond-looking boy, peeping in, asked,-- “Is Mr. Saunders the doctor here?” “Yes, my lad. Who wants me?” “A young woman up in Hill Fields, sir, what’s took poison, they say. You’re wanted very bad.” “Poison! that’s urgent,” said Mr. Saunders. “Who sent you here for me?” The lad looked with a puzzled expression at Jabez standing in the shadow, who, unperceived by the doctor, whispered something behind his hand. “Surgery, sir,” answered the boy, still looking at Jabez. “Oh, you were sent from the surgery. I must be off, for this is no doubt a desperate case. I must leave you to look after this poor fellow. If he wakes, give him two teaspoonfuls of that medicine there. I could do no more if I stopped myself. Come, my lad.”