"No!" cried Clive fiercely. "I don't--I won't think such a thing of my own brother. He ousted me in one great aim of my life; he is a spendthrift, and dishonourable enough; but, hang it, no, I won't give him the credit for this." There was a tap at the door. "Yes. Come in." The Doctor's quiet, grave servant in spotless black, looking as if he had been up for hours, entered with a tray, bearing hot tea and dry toast, placing it upon the table without a word, and leaving at once. "Take some tea, Clive, my boy," said the Doctor, going quietly now to his visitor, placing his hands upon his shoulders, and pressing him down into a chair. "Forgive me, my dear boy. No; of course, you could not do such a dishonourable act. I beg your pardon." "Granted, Doctor." "Confound the money, my boy! It's my savings, but I should never have spent a penny on myself. Let it go, I won't stir a peg about it, and I'll never try to save again. I can always earn guineas enough to pay my way, and that must do for the while I live. There; I'm better now," he continued, as he took a seat and helped himself to some tea.--"Hah! capital cup this. I'm very particular about my tea. And so you're doing well down in Derbyshire?" "Wonderfully, sir." "That's right. I'm very glad of it. Clive, my boy, I've been studying up the digestive functions a good deal, and I've had to read a paper upon it. I'm getting honourable mention." Clive looked at him wonderingly, and the Doctor saw it. "It's all right, my boy. I have no business to dabble in money affairs. That's all over now. I have too much to do in assuaging human ills to think any more about my losses; but I'm afraid that some people among your father's old friends will be very hard hit." "Good heavens!" cried Clive, starting up. "What is the matter?" "I have a friend down at the mine, who has bought pretty largely--for him--and if this cursed rumour reaches his ears,--here, I must go back by the next train. No, I cannot. I must stop in town, and have this report thoroughly contradicted by letters in the papers, and advertisements, as well as by personal visits to our old friends. Have you a telegram form?" "Yes, plenty, my dear boy. There: in the drawer." Clive hastily wrote a telegram for the Major, telling him that if any report reached him, or he saw anything in the papers respecting the stability of the "White Virgin" mine and its shares, he was to pay no heed whatever. "Can your man take this for me?" "Of course," cried the Doctor, ringing, and the quiet, grave-looking servant appeared. "Take a cab and go to the Charing Cross Post Office. That is open all night. You will pay for a special messenger to ride or drive over with it at once. The town is ten miles from Major Gurdon's cottage. Quick, please: it is important." He handed the man some money, and in two minutes the front door was closed.