chaise, looked at me steadily for a moment, and said, "Ah! then, doctor
darlin', but ye're welcome." With the speed with which sometimes the bar
of an air long since heard, or the passing glance of an old familiar fact
can call up the memory of our very earliest childhood, bright and vivid
before us, so that one single phrase explained the entire mystery of my
present position, and I saw in one rapid glance that I had got into the
chaise intended for Dr. Fitzgerald, and was absolutely at that moment
before the hall-door of the patient. My first impulse was an honest one,
to avow the mistake and retrace my steps, taking my chance to settle with
Curzon, whose matrimonial scheme I foresaw was doomed to the untimely
fate of all those I had ever been concerned in. My next thought, how
seldom is the adage true which says "that second thoughts are best," was
upon my luckless wager; for, even supposing that Fitzgerald should follow
me in the other chaise, yet as I had the start of him, if I could only
pass muster for half an hour, I might secure the fee, and evacuate the
territory; besides that there was a great chance of Fitz's having gone on
my errand, while I was journeying on his, in which case I should be safe
from interruption. Meanwhile, heaven only could tell, what his
interference in poor Curzon's business might not involve. These serious
reflections took about ten seconds to pass through my mind, as the
grave-looking old servant proceeded to encumber himself with my cloak
and my pistol-case, remarking as he lifted the latter, "And may the Lord
grant ye won't want the instruments this time, doctor, for they say he
is better this morning;" heartily wishing amen to the benevolent prayer
of the honest domestic, for more reasons than one, I descended
leisurely, as I conjectured a doctor ought to do, from the chaise, and
with a solemn pace and grave demeanour followed him into the house.

In the small parlour to which I was ushered, sat two gentlemen somewhat
advanced in years, who I rightly supposed were my medical confreres. One
of these was a tall, pale, ascetic-looking man, with grey hairs, and
retreating forehead, slow in speech, and lugubrious in demeanour. The
other, his antithesis, was a short, rosy-cheeked, apoplectic-looking
subject, with a laugh like a suffocating wheeze, and a paunch like an
alderman; his quick, restless eye, and full nether lip denoting more of
the bon vivant than the abstemious disciple