He stole back to the child, who was still kneeling, took her in his arms
and kissed her. "Tamn it," said he, angrily, and putting her down, "go
to bed now,--you are not wanted any more."

"Please, sir," said Helen, "I cannot leave him so. If he wakes he would
miss me."

The doctor's hand trembled; he had recourse to his globules.

"Anxiety--grief suppressed," muttered he. "Don't you want to cry, my
dear? Cry,--do!"

"I can't," murmured Helen.

"Pulsatilla!" said the doctor, almost with triumph. "I said so from the
first. Open your mouth--here! Goodnight. My room is opposite,--No. 6;
call me if he wakes."

CHAPTER XIII.

At seven o'clock Dr. Dosewell arrived, and was shown into the room of
the homoeopathist, who, already up and dressed, had visited his patient.

"My name is Morgan," said the homoeopathist; "I am a physician. I leave
in your hands a patient whom, I fear, neither I nor you can restore.
Come and look at him."

The two doctors went into the sick-room. Mr. Digby was very feeble, but
he had recovered his consciousness, and inclined his head courteously.

"I am sorry to cause so much trouble," said he. The homoeopathist drew
away Helen; the allopathist seated himself by the bedside and put his
questions, felt the pulse, sounded the lungs, and looked at the tongue
of the patient. Helen's eye was fixed on the strange doctor, and her
colour rose, and her eye sparkled when he got up cheerfully, and said in
a pleasant voice, "You may have a little tea."

"Tea!" growled the homeopathist,--"barbarian!"

"He is better, then, sir?" said Helen, creeping to the allopathist.

"Oh, yes, my dear,--certainly; and we shall do very well, I hope."

The two doctors then withdrew.

"Last about a week!" said Dr. Dosewell, smiling pleasantly, and showing
a very white set of teeth.

"I should have said a month; but our systems are different," replied Dr.
Morgan, dryly.

DR. DOSEWELL (courteously).--"We country doctors bow to our metropolitan
superiors; what would you advise? You would venture, perhaps, the
experiment of bleeding."

DR. MORGAN (spluttering and growling Welsh, which he never did but in
excitement).--"Pleed! Cott in heaven! do you think I am a putcher,--an
executioner? Pleed! Never."

DR. DOSEWELL.--"I don't find it answer, myself, when both lungs are
gone! But perhaps you are for inhaling?"

DR. MORGAN.--"Fiddledee!"

DR. DOSEWELL (with some displeasure).--"What would you advise, then