Angier.

"Did you make any new prescription?"

"No."

Dr. Hillhouse shut his lips tightly and knit his brows. He stood
irresolute for several moments.

"Most unfortunate!" he ejaculated. Then, going into his office, he
rang the bell and ordered his carriage brought round immediately.

Dr. Angier had made no exaggerated report of Mrs. Ridley's
condition. Dr. Hillhouse found that serious complications were
rapidly taking place, and that all the symptoms indicated
inflammation of the peritoneum. The patient was in great pain,
though with less cerebral disturbance than when he had seen her
last. There was danger, and he knew it. The disease had taken on a
form that usually baffles the skill of our most eminent physicians,
and Dr. Hillhouse saw little chance of anything but a fatal
termination. He could do nothing except to palliate as far as
possible the patient's intense suffering and endeavor to check
farther complications. But he saw little to give encouragement.

Mr. Ridley, with pale, anxious face, and eyes in which, were
pictured the unutterable anguish of his soul, watched Dr. Hillhouse
as he sat by his wife's bedside with an eager interest and suspense
that was painful to see. He followed him when he left the room, and
his hand closed on his arm with a spasm as the door shut behind
them.