his prescribed relation to the class; yet, though his outward gravity
and seeming indifference, I sometimes felt that he influenced me by a
power which no other man exerted over me.

One afternoon, returning from school to my quarters, I had just crossed
Meeting Street when I felt a light hand on my shoulder, and, turning, I
saw Doctor Khayme.

"Allow me to walk with you?" he asked.

He did not wait for an answer, but continued at once: "I have from your
father a letter in relation to your health. He says that he is uneasy
about you."

"I was never better in my life, sir," said I; "he has no reason to be
worried."

"I shall be glad to be able to relieve his mind," said the Doctor.

Now, I had wit enough to observe that the Doctor had not said "I am
glad," but "I shall be glad," and I asked, "Do _you_ think I am wrong
in health?"

"Not seriously," he replied; "but I think it will be well for you to see
the letter, and if you will be so good as to accompany me to my lodging,
I will show it to you."

Dr. Khayme's "lodging" proved to be a small cottage on one of the side
streets. There was a miniature garden in front: vines clambered over the
porch and were trained so that they almost hid the windows. An old