"I am going in the country a few miles to see a patient," said the
doctor; "so we shall have time for undisturbed consultation. I have so
often wondered what had become of you. Not hearing from Prickett, I
wrote to him, and received from his heir an answer as dry as a bone.
Poor fellow, I found that he had neglected his globules and quitted the
globe. Alas, 'pulvis et umbra sumus!' I could learn no tidings of you.
Prickett's successor declared he knew nothing about you. I hoped the
best; for I always fancied you were one who would fall on your legs,--
bilious-nervous temperament; such are the men who succeed in their
undertakings, especially if they take a spoonful of chamomilla whenever
they are over-excited. So now for your history and the little girl's,--
pretty little thing,--never saw a more susceptible constitution, nor one
more suited to pulsatilla."

Leonard briefly related his own struggles and success, and informed the
good doctor how they had at last discovered the nobleman in whom poor
Captain Digby had confided, and whose care of the orphan had justified
the confidence.

Dr. Morgan opened his eyes at hearing the name of Lord L'Estrange. "I
remember him very well," said he, "when I practised murder as an
allopathist at Lansmere. But to think that wild boy, so full of whim and
life and spirit, should become staid enough for a guardian to that dear
little child, with her timid eyes and pulsatilla sensibilities. Well,
wonders never cease! And he has befriended you too, you say. Ah, he
knew your family."

"So he says. Do you think, sir, that he ever knew--ever saw--my mother?"

"Eh! your mother?--Nora?" exclaimed the doctor, quickly; and, as if