e, who leads us to brilliant
success or to black ruin, who exalts us above our fellows or hurls us
into oblivion. Woman--always woman.

Since that awful suspicion had fallen upon me that the hand that had
struck old Mr. Courtenay was that soft delicate one that I had so
often carried to my lips, a blank had opened in my life. Consumed by
conflicting thoughts, I recollected how sweet and true had been our
affection; with what an intense passionate love-look she had gazed
upon me with those wonderful eyes of hers; with what wild fierce
passion her lips would meet mine in fond caress.

Alas! it had all ended. She had acted a lie to me. That letter told
the bitter truth. Hence, we were gradually drifting apart.

One Sunday morning in May, just as I had finished my breakfast and
flung myself into an armchair to smoke, as was my habit on the day of
rest, my man entered, saying that Lady Twickenham had sent to ask if I
could go round to Park Lane at once. Not at all pleased with this
call, just at a moment of laziness, I was, nevertheless, obliged to
respond, because her ladyship was one of Sir Bernard's best patients;
and suffering as she was from a malignant internal complaint, I knew
it was necessary to respond at once to the summons.

On arrival at her bedside I quickly saw the gravity of the situation;
but, unfortunately, I knew very little of the case, because Sir
Bernard himself always made a point of attending her personally.
Although elderly, she was a prominent woman in society, and had
recommended many patients to my chief in earlier days, before he
attained the fame he had now achieved. I remained with her a couple of
hours; but finding myself utterly confused regarding her symptoms, I
resolved to take the afternoon train down to Hove and consult Sir
Bernard. I suggested this course to her ladyship, who was at once
delighted with the suggestion. Therefore, promising to return at ten
o'clock that night, I went out, swallowed a hasty luncheon, and took
train down to Brighton.

The house was one of those handsome mansions facing the sea at Hove,
and as I drove up to it on that bright, sunny afternoon, it seemed to
me an ideal residence for a man jaded by the eternal worries of a
physician's life. The sea-breeze stirred the sun-blinds before the
windows, and the flowers in the well-kept boxes were already gay with
bloom. I knew the place well, for I had been down many times before;
therefore, when the page opened