What more his ungovernable fury would have uttered was interrupted by a
rush of nurses and attendants, and Wilson was bundled out of the place
with little ceremony.

He contrived, however, to hurl a word after her, accompanied with a look
of concentrated rage and resolution.

"NEVER, I TELL YOU--WHILE I LIVE."

At her next visit to the hospital Wilson was refused admission by order
of the head surgeon. She left her flowers daily all the same.

After a few days she thought the matter might have cooled, and, having a
piece of news to communicate to Seaton with respect to Arthur Wardlaw,
she asked to see that patient.

"Left the hospital this morning," was the reply.

"What, cured?"

"Why not? We have cured worse cases than his."

"Where has he gone to? Pray tell me."

"Oh, certainly." And inquiry was made. But the reply was, "Left no
address."

Sarah Wilson, like many other women of high and low degree, had swift
misgivings of mischief to come. She was taken with a fit of trembling,
and had to sit down in the hall.