surprised to see him, and that he did not appear to be at all
surprised to see me. If he was my son or my brother, I believe he
could not be fonder of me than he is; but he has never volunteered
any confidences since he has been here, on the subject of his past
life. I saw something that was familiar to me in his face when we
first met; and yet it was also something that suggested the idea of
change. I had a notion once that my patient at the Inn might be a
natural son of Mr. Holliday's; I had another idea that he might
also have been the man who was engaged to Arthur's first wife; and
I have a third idea, still clinging to me, that Mr. Lorn is the
only man in England who could really enlighten me, if he chose, on
both those doubtful points. His hair is not black, now, and his
eyes are dimmer than the piercing eyes that I remember, but, for
all that, he is very like the nameless medical student of my young
days--very like him. And, sometimes, when I come home late at
night, and find him asleep, and wake him, he looks, in coming to,
wonderfully like the stranger at Doncaster, as he raised himself in
the bed on that memorable night!

The Doctor paused. Mr. Goodchild, who had been following every
word that fell from his lips up to this time, leaned forward
eagerly to ask a question. Before he could say a word, the latch
of the door was raised, without any warning sound of footsteps in
the passage outside. A long, white, bony hand appeared through the
opening, gently pushing the door, which was prevented from working
freely on its hinges by a fold in the carpet under it.

'That hand! Look at that hand, Doctor!' said Mr. Goodchild,
touching him.