When, haggard with mental and bodily exhaustion, he at length
returned, it was after midnight. He found Dr. Caley waiting for him;
he had just come from the sick-room and wore an anxious look upon his
face.

"Your wife has been delivered of a fine girl," he said; "but I am
bound to tell you that her condition is far from satisfactory. The
case is a most complicated and dangerous one."

"A girl!" groaned Philip, mindful of the will. "Are you sure that it
is a girl?"

"Of course I am sure," answered the doctor, testily.

"And Hilda ill--I don't understand."

"Look here, my good fellow, you are upset; take a glass of brandy and
go to bed. Your wife does not wish to see you now, but, if necessary,
I will send for you. Now, do as I tell you, or you will be down next.
Your nerves are seriously shaken."

Philip did as he was bid, and, as soon as he had seen him off to his
room, the doctor returned upstairs.

In the early morning he sent for two of his brother-practitioners, and
they held a consultation, the upshot of which was that they had come
to the conclusion nothing short of a miracle could save Hilda's life--
a conclusion that she herself had arrived at some hours before.

"Doctor," she said, "I trust to you to let me know when the end is