mosphere of sweetness and healing that comforted and assured without
words and without medicine. He made no pretence and no noise, but his
smile was sunshine to the heart, and the touch of his hand imparted
strength and courage to the despairing soul. It was as if good spirits
went with him, and his very silence was pleasant company. Mr. Walker was
in no haste to be gone. All his anxious cares seemed to fall away, and a
peaceful sense of comfort and security came over him; his eyes followed
Dr. Shepard as he moved about, and when a door interposed between them
he felt lost and homesick. "If this were the man I had come to see, I
should be happy." That was his thought all the while. Perhaps--who shall
say not?--it was the blessings of the poor, to whom he most generously
ministered, which gave to his manner that graciousness and charm which
no words can convey, and to his touch that magnetism which is at once
life-giving and love-inspiring.

How it was Mr. Walker could not tell, and indeed wiser men than he could
not have told, but he presently found himself opening his heart to this
new doctor, as he had never opened it to anybody in all his life,--how
he had married Jenny, how they had gone to the new country, the birth of
the boy and the girl, the slow coming on of disease, the selling of
Fleety, and the mortgaging of the farm. Doctor Shepard knew it all, and,
more than this, he knew how much money had been accumulated, and how
much of it was still left. He had examined the tumor in the breast, and
knew that it could end in but one way. He had told Mr. Walker that he
could be made more comfortable, and might live for years, perhaps, but
that he must not hope to be cured, and that to get home to his family
with all possible speed was the best advice he could give him. His words
carried with them the weight of conviction, and the sick man was almost
persuaded; but the thought of what would be said at home if he should
come back without having seen the great Dr. Killmany urged him to try
one last experiment.

"What do you suppose he will charge me to look at this?" he inquired of
Dr. Shepard, laying his hand on his breast.

"Half you have, my friend."

"And if he cuts it out?"

"The other half."

"O, dear me!"--and the sick man fell back upon the sofa, and for a good
while thought to himself. Then came one of those wild suggestions of a
vain hope. "Perhaps this man is the impostor, and not the other!" it
said. "An