e chances are in favour of a quick recovery; but
we never can be sure. You had better return to New York. Later, you can
write me if you wish, or Mr. Challoner can. You may have confidence in
my reply; it will not mislead you."

Sweetwater muttered his thanks and rose. Then he slowly sat down again.

"Dr. Fenton," he began, "you are a man to be trusted. I'm in a devil of
a fix, and there is just a possibility that you may be able to help me
out. It is the general opinion in New York, as you may know, that Miss
Challoner committed suicide. But the circumstances do not fully bear out
this theory, nor can Mr. Challoner be made to accept it. Indeed, he is
so convinced of its falsehood, that he stands ready to do anything, pay
anything, suffer anything, to have this distressing blight removed from
his daughter's good name. Mr. Brotherson was her dearest friend, and as
such may have the clew to this mystery, but Mr. Brotherson may not be
in a condition to speak for several weeks. Meanwhile, Mr. Challoner must
suffer from great suspense unless--" a pause during which he
searched the doctor's face with a perfectly frank and inquiring
expression--"unless some one else can help us out. Dr. Fenton, can you?"

The doctor did not need to speak; his expression conveyed his answer.

"No more than another," said he. "Except for what Doris felt compelled
to tell me, I know as little as yourself. Mr. Brotherson's delirium took
the form of calling continually upon one name. I did not know this name,
but Doris did, also the danger lurking in the fact that he had yet to
hear of the tragedy which had robbed him of this woman to whom he was
so deeply attached. So she told me just this much. That the Edith
whose name rung so continuously in our ears was no other than the Miss
Challoner of New York of whose death and its tragic circumstances the
papers have been full; that their engagement was a secret one unshared
so far as she knew by any one but herself. That she begged me to
preserve this secret and to give her all the help I could when the time
came for him to ask questions. Especially did she entreat me to be with
her at the crisis. I was, but his waking was quite natural. He did not
ask for Miss Challoner; he only inquired how long he had been ill
and whether Doris had received a letter during that time. She had not
received one, a fact which seemed to disappoint him; but she carried it
off so gaily (she is a wonderful girl, Mr. Sweetw