"Join us at lunch, doctor, and you can observe him at your leisure."

"Thank you, madam. What seems the matter with Mr. Brudenell?"

"A general failure without any particular disease. If it were not that I
know better, I would say that something lay heavily upon his mind."

"Humph! a second case of that kind to-day! Well, madam, I will join you
at two o'clock," said the doctor, as he trotted off towards the negro
quarters.

Punctually at the hour the doctor presented himself at the luncheon
table of Mrs. Brudenell. There were present Mrs. Brudenell, her two
daughters, her son, and a tall, dark, distinguished looking man, whom
the lady named as Colonel Mervin.

The conversation, enlivened by a bottle of fine champagne, flowed
briskly and cheerfully around the table. But through all the doctor
watched Herman Brudenell. He was indeed changed. He looked ill, yet he
ate, drank, laughed, and talked with the best there. But when his eye
met that of the doctor fixed upon him, it flashed with a threatening
glance that seemed to repel scrutiny.

The doctor, to turn the attention of the lady from her son, said:

"I was at the hut on the hill to-day. One of those poor girls, the
youngest, Nora, I think they call her, is in a bad way. She seems to me
to be sinking into a decline." As he said this he happened to glance at
Herman Brudenell. That gentleman's eyes were fixed upon his with a gaze
of wild alarm, but they sank as soon as noticed.