ng the wrongs heaped upon him by fate; realizing, to the full,
his own helplessness, and the peril before him, and doggedly resolving
to die, and make no sign.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

I CAN SAVE HIM IF I WILL.

Doctor Benoit was old and deaf; he was also very talkative. One of those
physicians who invariably leave a titbit of news alongside of their
powders and pellets. A constant talker is apt to be an indiscreet
talker, and, very often, wanting in tact. Doctor Benoit was not so much
deficient in tact, as in memory. In growing old, he had grown forgetful,
and not being a society man, social gossip was less dear to his heart
than the news of political outbreaks, business strivings, and about-town
sensations. Doubtless he had heard, like all the world of W----, that
Doctor Clifford Heath had, at one time, been an aspirant for the favor
of the proud heiress of Wardour, and that suddenly he had fallen from
grace, and was no more seen within the walls of Wardour, or at the side
of its mistress on social occasions. If so, he had entirely forgotten
these facts. Accordingly, during his second call, made on the morning
after the inquest, he began to drop soft remarks concerning the recent
horror.

Mrs. Lamotte was lying down, and Constance had decided not to arouse her
when the doctor arrived, inasmuch as the patient was in one of her
stupors, and not likely to rouse from it.

The arrest of a brother practitioner on such a charge as was preferred
against Clifford Heath, had created no little commotion in the mind of
Dr. Benoit, and he found it difficult to keep the subject off his
tongue, so, after he had given Constance full instructions concerning
the patient, he said, standing hat in hand near the dressing room door:

"This is a terrible state of affairs for W----, Miss Wardour. Do you
know," drawing a step nearer, and lowering his voice, "Do you know if
Mr. Lamotte has been informed that O'Meara, as Heath's lawyer, demands a
surgical examination?"

"As Heath's lawyer!" The room seemed to swim about her. She turned
instinctively toward the door of the chamber, closed it softly, and came
very close to the old doctor, lifting her pale lips to his ear.

"I don't understand you, doctor. What has Mr. O'Meara to do with the
murder?"

"Hey? What's that? What is O'Meara going to do? He's going to defend
young Heath." Then, seeing the startled, perplexed look upon her face,
"Is it possible you have not heard about Heath'