travelling adventures to relate--he has a confession
to make. In plain words, I have been practising my profession again, in
the city of Montreal!

"I wonder whether you will forgive me, when you are informed of the
circumstances? It is a sad little story; but I am vain enough to think
that my part in it will interest you. I have been a vain man, since
that brightest and best of all possible days when you first made _your_
confession--when you said that you loved me.

"Look back in my letter, and you will see Mr. Morphew mentioned as a new
friend of mine, in Canada. I became acquainted with him through a letter
of introduction, given to me by Benjulia.

"Say nothing to anybody of what I am now going to tell you--and be
especially careful, if you happen to see him, to keep Benjulia in
the dark. I sincerely hope you will not see him. He is a hard-hearted
man--and he might say something which would distress you, if he knew of
the result which has followed his opening to me the door of his friend's
house.

"Mr. Morphew is a worthy busy old gentleman, who follows his
professional routine, and whose medical practice consists principally
in bringing infant Canadians into the world. His services happened to be
specially in request, at the time when I made his acquaintance. He was
called away from his table, on the day after the musical party, when I
dined with him. I was the only guest--and his wife was left to entertain
me.

"The good lady began by speaking of Benjulia. She roundly declared him
to be a brute--and she produced my letter of introduction (closed by the
doctor's own hand, before he gave it to me) as a proof. Would you like
to read the letter, too? Here is a copy:--'The man who brings this is an
overworked surgeon, named Ovid Vere. He wants rest and good air. Don't
encourage him to use his brains; and give him information enough to take
him, by the shortest way, to the biggest desert in Canada.' You will
now understand that I am indebted to myself for the hospitable reception
which has detained me at Montreal.

"To return to my story. Mr. Morphew's services were again in request,
ten minutes after he had left the house. This time the patient was a
man--and the messenger declared that he was at the point of death.

"Mrs. Morphew seemed to be at a loss what to do. 'In this dreadful
case,' she said, 'death is a mercy. What I cannot bear to think of is
the poor man's lonely position. In his last moments, there