the room hastily, as if to search for it.

Eliza wondered why he should flush up at being asked for a prescription,
and why he should have suddenly lost himself in a reverie. But she had
not much curiosity as to anything that concerned old Major Pratt--who
was at present staying in lodgings in London.

Downstairs went Mr. Hamlyn to the little room he called his library,
seated himself at the table under the lamp, and opened the note again.
It ran as follows:

"DEAR PHILIP HAMLYN,--The other day, when calling here, you spoke
of some infallible prescription to cure gout that had been given
you. I've symptoms of it flying about me--and be hanged to it!
Bring it to me yourself to-morrow; I want to see you. _I suppose
there was no mistake in the report that that ship did go
down?_--and that none of the passengers were saved from it?

"Truly yours,

"RICHARD PRATT."

"What can he possibly mean?" muttered Philip Hamlyn.

But there was no one to answer the question, and he sat buried in
thought, trying to answer it himself. Starting up from the useless task,
he looked in his desk, found the infallible prescription, and then
snatched his watch from his pocket.

"Too late," he decided impatiently; "Pratt would be gone to bed. He goes