rmit; "I am a
person deeply obliged to your uncle. My name is Croftangry."

"Lord! and that I should not hae minded ye, Maister Croftangry," said
the servant. "Ay, I mind my master had muckle fash about your job. I hae
heard him order in fresh candles as midnight chappit, and till't again.
Indeed, ye had aye his gude word, Mr. Croftangry, for a' that folks said
about you."

"Hold your tongue, John," said the lady, somewhat angrily; and then
continued, addressing herself to me, "I am sure, sir, you must be sorry
to see my uncle in this state. I know you are his friend. I have heard
him mention your name, and wonder he never heard from you." A new cut
this, and it went to my heart. But she continued, "I really do not know
if it is right that any should--If my uncle should know you, which I
scarce think possible, he would be much affected, and the doctor says
that any agitation--But here comes Dr. -- to give his own opinion."

Dr. -- entered. I had left him a middle-aged man. He was now an elderly
one; but still the same benevolent Samaritan, who went about doing
good, and thought the blessings of the poor as good a recompense of his
professional skill as the gold of the rich.

He looked at me with surprise, but the young lady said a word of
introduction, and I, who was known to the doctor formerly, hastened to
complete it. He recollected me perfectly, and intimated that he was well
acquainted with the reasons I had for being deeply interested in the
fate of his patient. He gave me a very melancholy account of my poor
friend, drawing me for that purpose a little apart from the lady. "The
light of life," he said, "was trembling in the socket; he scarcely
expected it would ever leap up even into a momentary flash, but more
was impossible." He then stepped towards his patient, and put some
questions, to which the poor invalid, though he seemed to recognize the
friendly and familiar voice, answered only in a faltering and uncertain
manner.

The young lady, in her turn, had drawn back when the doctor approached
his patient. "You see how it is with him," said the doctor, addressing
me. "I have heard our poor friend, in one of the most eloquent of his
pleadings, give a description of this very disease, which he compared
to the tortures inflicted by Mezentius when he chained the dead to the
living. The soul, he said, is imprisoned in its dungeon of flesh, and
though retaining its natural and unalienable properties, can no mor