same moment the open windows on the ground floor.

"Muster Melrose--it's noan o' my doin'," was Dixon's trembling reply, as
he pointed a shaky finger at the windows. "It was t' yoong doctor from
Pengarth--yo' ken him--"

A woman's voice interrupted.

"Please, sir, would you stop those dogs barking? They disturb the
patient."

Melrose looked at the speaker in stupefaction.

"What the deuce have you been doing with my house?"--he turned furiously
to Dixon--"who are these people?"

"Theer's a yoong man lyin' sick i' the drawin'-room," said Dixon
desperately. "They do say 'at he's in a varra parlish condition; an' they
tell me there's to be no barkin' nor noise whativer."

"Well, upon my word!" Melrose was by this time pale with rage. "A young
man--sick--in my drawing-room!--and a young woman giving orders in my
house!--you're a precious lot--you are!" He strode on toward the young
woman, who, as he now saw, was in the dress of a nurse. She had descended
the steps, and was vainly trying to quiet the dogs.

"I'll uphold yer!" muttered Dixon, following slowly after; "it's the
queerest do-ment that iver I knew!"

"Madam! I should like to know what your business is here. I never invited