on the same subject. The doctor, who had always been friendly to him,
invited him to come down at once to Hallowtree Hall, in Huntingdonshire,
to a consultation. There was a friendly intimation to start at once, as
the patient might die any moment.

Husband and wife embraced each other in a tumult of surprised
thankfulness. A few necessaries were thrown into a carpet-bag, and
Dr. Staines was soon whirled into Huntingdonshire. Having telegraphed
beforehand, he was met at the station by the earl's carriage and people,
and driven to the Hall. He was received by an old, silver-haired butler,
looking very sad, who conducted him to a boudoir; and then went and
tapped gently at the door of the patient's room. It was opened and shut
very softly, and Lady Cicely, dressed in black, and looking paler than
ever, came into the room.

"Dr. Staines, I think?"

He bowed.

"Thank you for coming so promptly. Dr. Barr is gone. I fear he
thinks--he thinks--O Dr. Staines--no sign of life but in his poor hands,
that keep moving night and day."

Staines looked very grave at that. Lady Cicely observed it, and, faint
at heart, could say no more, but led the way to the sick-room.

There in a spacious chamber, lighted by a grand oriel window and two
side windows, lay rank, title, wealth, and youth, stricken down in a
moment by a common accident. The sufferer's face was bloodless, his eyes
fixed, and no signs of life but in his thumbs, and they kept working