ed to see him
die, but he did not die. He was mending fast; in a little while he
would be as well as ever he had been in his life. What had the doctor
done it for? Was it really possible that nothing was ever intended
beyond a scientific experiment, which had succeeded? In the case of any
other man, the woman's doubts would have been entirely removed; in the
case of Dr. Vimpany these doubts remained. There are some men of whom
nothing good can be believed, whether of motive or of action; for if
their acts seem good, their motive must be bad. Many women know, or
fancy they know, such a man--one who seems to them wholly and
hopelessly bad. Besides, what was the meaning of the secret
conversation and the widespread colloquies of the doctor and my lord?
And why, at first, was the doctor so careless about his patient?

"The time has come at last," said the doctor that evening, when the two
men were alone, "for this woman to go. The man is getting well rapidly,
he no longer wants a nurse; there is no reason for keeping her. If she
has suspicions there is no longer the least foundation for them; she
has assisted at the healing of a man desperately sick by a skilful
physician. What more? Nothing--positively nothing."

"Can she tell my wife so much and no more?" asked Lord Harry. "Will
there be no more?"

"She can tell her ladyship no more, because she will have no more to
tell," the doctor replied quietly. "She would like to learn more; she
is horribly disappointed that there is no more to tell; but she shall
hear no more. She hates me: but she hates your lordship more."

"Why?"

"Because her mistress loves you still. Such a woman as this would like
to absorb the whole affection of her mistress in herself. You laugh.
She is a servant, and a common person. How can such a person conceive
an affection so strong as to become a passion for one so superior? But
it is true. It is perfectly well known, and there have been many
recorded instances of such a woman, say a servant, greatly inferior in
station, conceiving a desperate affection for her mistress, accompanied
by the fiercest jealousy. Fanny Mere is jealous--and of you. She hates
you; she wants your wife to hate you. She would like nothing better
than to go back to her mistress with the proofs in her hand of such
acts on your part--such acts, I say," he chose his next words
carefully, "as would keep her from you for ever."

"She's a devil, I dare say," said Lord Harry, ca