en, and this work
occupied much of her time. She was the antithesis of her husband. He, a
weaver of dream-stories, she of that type of woman who has ideas of the
emancipation of women and who believe the problem could be solved by
training the minds of the next generation of mothers. Linton was not
interested in these questions, but he would smile indulgently at his
wife as she talked of the equality of mind of the sexes and the public
part in the world's history which would be played by the women of the
future.

There was no talk of this kind now. The household management fell into
the hands of servants. Night and day his wife watched Linton. He would
awaken in the night to find her face close to his own, her eyes burning
with feverish anxiety.

"What is it, Grace?" he would cry, "have I said anything? What is the
reason you watch me in this fashion, dear?"

And she would sob, "Jack, you are ill, dear, you are ill; we must go to
town, we must, indeed."

Then he would soothe her with fond words and promise that he would go to
London.

This present journey was the outcome of those weeks of watching and fear
in Linton's wife's mind.

* * * * *

Linton's wife was trembling violently as he helped her down from the cab
in front of Doctor Redmond's door. They had made an appointment, so that
they were sure of little delay before the portentous interview.

A small page in blue livery opened the door and ushered them into a
waiting-room. Mrs. Linton dropped heavily into a chair, looking with a
frightened air from side to side and biting her under lip nervously.
She was moaning half under her breath, "Oh, Jack, you are ill, you are
ill."

A short stout man with clean-shaven face and scanty black hair entered
the room. His nose was huge and misshapen and his mouth was a straight
firm line. Overhanging black brows tried in vain to shadow the piercing
dark eyes, that darted questioning looks at every one, seeming to search
for hidden thoughts as a flash-light from the conning tower of a ship
searches for the enemy in time of war.

He advanced toward Mrs. Linton with outstretched hand. "Mrs. Linton?" he
said. "Ah!"

She almost jumped from her chair as he came near her, crying, "Oh,
doctor, my husband is ill, very ill, very ill!"

Again Doctor Redmond with his eyes fixed upon her face ejaculated, "Ah!"
Turning to Linton he said, "Please wait here, Squire; I will first talk
to your wife.