nterval, "Bless me!
Lord bless me! What, more still! Death would be a very happy release!"
Meanwhile the doctor endured the recital with exemplary patience, noting
down in the leaves of his pocketbook what appeared to him the salient
points in this fortress of disease to which he had laid siege, and then,
drawing forth a minute paper said,

"Capital,--nothing can be better. This powder must be dissolved in eight
tablespoonfuls of water; one spoonful every two hours."

"Tablespoonful?"

"Tablespoonful."

"'Nothing can be better,' did you say, sir?" repeated the squire, who in
his astonishment at that assertion applied to the captain's description
of his sufferings, had hitherto hung fire,--"nothing can be better?"

"For the diagnosis, sir!" replied Dr. Morgan.

"For the dogs' noses, very possibly," quoth the squire; "but for the
inside of Cousin Higginbotham, I should think nothing could be worse."

"You are mistaken, sir," replied Dr. Morgan. "It is not the captain
who speaks here,--it is his liver. Liver, sir, though a noble, is an
imaginative organ, and indulges in the most extraordinary fictions. Seat
of poetry and love and jealousy--the liver. Never believe what it says.
You have no idea what a liar it is! But--ahem--ahem. Cott--I think I've
seen you before, sir. Surely your name's Hazeldean?"

"William Hazeldean, at your service, Doctor. But where have you seen
me?"

"On the hustings at Lansmere. You were speaking on behalf of your
distinguished brother, Mr. Egerton."

"Hang it!" cried the squire: "I think it must have been my liver that
spoke there! for I promised the electors that that half-brother of mine
would stick by the land, and I never told a bigger lie in my life!"

Here the patient, reminded of his other visitors, and afraid he was
going to be bored with the enumeration of the squire's wrongs, and
probably the whole history of his duel with Captain Dashmore, turned
with a languid wave of his hand, and said, "Doctor, another friend
of mine, the Rev. Mr. Dale, and a gentleman who is acquainted with
homoeopathy."

"Dale? What, more old friends!" cried the doctor, rising; and the parson
came somewhat reluctantly from the window nook, to which he had retired.
The parson and the homoeopathist shook hands.

"We have met before on a very mournful occasion," said the doctor, with
feeling.

The parson held his finger to his lips, and glanced towards Leonard. The
doctor stared at the lad, but he d