r his own physician and friends?"
questioned Theodore, indignantly.

"Why, bless your heart, sir!" exclaimed the proprietor of the hotel,
"where would you have us telegraph, and to whom? He came here and fell
down in a fit, and hasn't spoken since; and he had no baggage nor papers
about him, so far as I can find, for it was precious little he would let
me look. I assure you we have done our best," he added, in an injured
tone.

Theodore apologised for his suspicious words; and failing to get even a
nod from the sick man, to show that he understood his eager questions,
acted on his own responsibility, and made all haste to the telegraph
office. There he dispatched separate messages to Mrs. Hastings and
Pliny, adding to Pliny's the words, "Bring a doctor." To Mr. Stephens he
said, "Unavoidably detained." Then one, utterly on his own private
responsibility, to Dr. Arnold, "Will you come to C---- by first train? A
case of life and death." After that there was nothing to do but wait.
Another sick-bed! Theodore sat down beside it in solemn wonderment over
the incidents, many and varied, that were constantly bringing him in
contact with this man and his family. The great troubled eyes of the
sick man followed his every movement, and he could not resist the
impression that at last they seemed to recognize him and take in some
thought of hope. It seemed terrible, this living death, this unutterable
silence, and yet those staring eyes, he did not know whether it was a
hopeful indication or otherwise, but at last they closed and the
sufferer seemed to sleep heavily. Wearily passed the hours; he chose not
to leave his charge to meet the two o'clock train, but sent a carriage
and waited in nervous torture for the whistle of the train. At last
there was a sound of arrival, and eager voices of inquiry below. He left
in charge the stupid little doctor, who was doing his utmost to keep
awake, and went down stairs. They were all there, frightened and
inquiring--Mrs. Hastings, Dora, Pliny, and, oh joy! Dr. Arnold himself!
Theodore threw open the door of the dingy parlor.

"Come in, please all of you," he said, in a tone of gentle authority;
"and be as quiet as possible." Nevertheless they all talked at once.

"Is it a fever?" Mrs. Hastings asked, shivering and cowering in a
frightened way over the wretch of a stove.

"What is it, Mallery?" Pliny asked in the same breath; while even the
taciturn doctor questioned, "What is the meaning