would have been as loud to defend as it had been to defame; that vile
letter might never have been written. Whoever its writer, it surely was
one of the babblers who took their malice itself from the jest or the nod
of their female despot; and the writer might have justified herself in
saying she did but coarsely proclaim what the oracle of worldly opinion,
and the early friend of Lilian's own mother, had authorized her to
believe.

By degrees, the bitterness at my heart diffused itself to the
circumference of the circle in which my life went its cheerless mechanical
round. That cordial brotherhood with his patients, which is the true
physician's happiest gift and humanest duty, forsook my breast. The
warning words of Mrs. Poyntz had come true. A patient that monopolized
my thought awaited me at my own hearth! My conscience became troubled; I
felt that my skill was lessened. I said to myself, "The physician who, on
entering the sick-room, feels, while there, something that distracts the
finest powers of his intellect from the sufferer's case is unfit for his
calling." A year had scarcely passed since my fatal wedding day, before I
had formed a resolution to quit L---- and abandon my profession; and my
resolution was confirmed, and my goal determined, by a letter I received
from Julius Faber.

I had written at length to him, not many days after the blow that had
fallen on me, stating all circumstances as calmly and clearly as my grief
would allow; for I held his skill at a higher estimate than that of any
living brother of my art, and I was not without hope in the efficacy of
his advice. The letter I now received from him had been begun, and
continued at some length, before my communication reached him; and this
earlier portion contained animated and cheerful descriptions of his
Australian life and home, which contrasted with the sorrowful tone of the