u really think of
him."

"That I can do nothing whatever, Mrs Dunn," said the doctor kindly.
"Our London winters are killing him, and I have no faith in the south of
England doing any good. The only hope is a complete change to a warmer
land."

"But I couldn't let him go to a horrible barbarous foreign country,
sir."

"Not to save his life, Mrs Dunn?"

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!" sighed the old lady. "It's very hard
when I'd lay down my life to save him, and me seeing him peek and pine
away and growing so weak. I know it was that skating accident as did
it. Him nearly a quarter of an hour under the ice, and the
receiving-house doctor working for an hour before he could bring him
to."

"I'm afraid that was the start of his illness, Mrs Dunn."

"I'm sure of it, doctor. Such a fine lad as he was, and he has never
been the same since. What am I to do? Nobody takes any interest in the
poor boy but me."

"Well, I should write at once to the professor and tell him that Mr
Lawrence is in a critical condition, and also to his father's executor,
Mr Burne, and insist upon my patient being taken for the winter to a
milder clime."

"And they won't stir a peg. I believe they'll both be glad to hear that
he is dead, for neither of them cares a straw about him, poor boy."

There had been a double knock while this conversation was going on in
Guildford Street, Russell Square, and after the pattering of steps on
the oil-cloth in the hall the door was opened, and the murmur of a gruff
voice was followed by the closing of the front door, and then a series
of three sounds, as if someone was beginning to learn a deep brass
instrument, and Mrs Dunn started up.

"It's Mr Burne. Now, doctor, you tell him yourself."

Directly after, a keen-eyed grey little gentleman of about fifty was
shown in, with a snuff-box in one hand, a yellow silk handkerchief in
the other, and he looked sharply about as he shook hands in a hurried
way, and then sat down.

"Hah! glad to see you, doctor. Now about this client of yours. Patient
I mean. You're not going to let him slip through your fingers?"

"I'm sorry to say, Mr Burne--"

"Bless me! I am surprised. Been so busy. Poor boy! _Snuff snuff
snuff_. Take a pinch? No, you said you didn't. Bad habit. Bless my
soul, how sad!"

Mr Burne, the family solicitor, jumped up when he blew his nose. Sat
down to take some more snuff, and got up again to offer a pinch to the
docto