"Oh! my darling, I did not mean to hurry you. Of course, not till you feel perfectly well; don't suppose I could be such a monster. But--I don't want, of course, to pursue her--but there is a middle course between that and having to drop her. She really has no one else, poor old thing! to care about, or to care about her. Not that _I_ care about her, but you're her kinswoman, and I don't see why----" At this moment the door opened, and there entered, with the air of an assumed intimacy and a certain welcome, a person whom I little expected to see there. I saw him with a shock. It was the man with the fine eyes and great forehead, the energetic gait and narrow shoulders. The grim, mean-looking, intelligent, agreeable man of fifty, Mr. Droqville. CHAPTER XXV. THE DOCTOR'S NEWS. "Oh! how do you do, Doctor Droqville?" said mamma, with a very real welcome in looks and accent. "How d'ye do, Droqville?" said my father, a little dryly, I fancied. "Have you had your breakfast?" asked mamma. "Two hours ago." "We are very late here," said papa. "I should prefer thinking I am very early, in my primitive quarters," answered Mr. Droqville. "I had not an idea we should have found you in town, just now." "In season or out of season, a physician should always be at his post. I'm beginning to learn rather late there's some truth in that old proverb about moss, you know, and rolling stones, and it costs even a bachelor something to keep body and soul together in this mercenary, tailoring, cutlet-eating world." At this moment he saw me, and made me a bow. "Miss Ware?" he said, a little inquiringly to mamma. "Yes, I knew perfectly it was the young lady I had seen at Malory. Some faces are not easily forgotten," he added, gallantly, with a glance at me. "I threatened to run away with her, but she was firm as fate," he smiled and went on; "and I paid a visit to our friend Carmel, you know." "And how did you think he was?" she asked; and I listened with interest for the answer. "He's consumptive. He's at this side of the Styx, it is true; but his foot is in the water, and Charon's obolus is always between his finger and thumb. He'll die young. He may live five years, it is true; but he is not likely to live two. And if he happens to take cold and begins to cough, he might not last four months." "My wife has been complaining," said papa; "I wish you could do something for her. You still believe in Doctor Droqville? I think she half believes you have taken a degree in divinity as well as in medicine; if so, a miracle, now and then, would be quite in your way." "But I assure you, Doctor Droqville, I never said any such thing. It was you who thought," she said to my father, "that Doctor Droqville was in orders." Droqville laughed. "But, Doctor Droqville, I think," said mamma, "you would have made a very good priest."