ait of her!"

"You admire her very much?"

Arthur, half in jest, half in earnest, kissed his hand for answer.

"Love at first sight," said young Holliday, putting the drawing away
again. "But the course of it doesn't run smooth. It's the old story.
She's monopolized, as usual; trammeled by a rash engagement to some poor
man who is never likely to get money enough to marry her. It was lucky
I heard of it in time, or I should certainly have risked a declaration
when she gave me that drawing. Here, doctor, here is pen, ink, and paper
all ready for you."

"When she gave you that drawing? Gave it? gave it?"

He repeated the words slowly to himself, and suddenly closed his eyes. A
momentary distortion passed across his face, and I saw one of his hands
clutch up the bedclothes and squeeze them hard. I thought he was going
to be ill again, and begged that there might be no more talking. He
opened his eyes when I spoke, fixed them once more searchingly on
Arthur, and said, slowly and distinctly:

"You like her, and she likes you. The poor man may die out of your way.
Who can tell that she may not give you herself as well as her drawing,
after all?"

Before young Holliday could answer he turned to me, and said in a
whisper: "Now for the prescription." From that time, though he spoke to
Arthur again, he never looked at him more.

When I had written the prescription, he examined it, approved of it, and
then astonished us both by abruptly wishing us good-night. I offered to
sit up with him, and he shook his head. Arthur offered to sit up with
him, and he said, shortly, with his face turned away, "No." I insisted
on having somebody left to watch him. He gave way when he found I was
determined, and said he would accept the services of the waiter at the
inn.

"Thank you both," he said, as we rose to go. "I have one last favor to
ask--not of you, doctor, for I leave you to exercise your professional
discretion, but of Mr. Holliday." His eyes, while he spoke, still rested
steadily on me, and never once turned toward Arthur. "I beg that Mr.
Holliday will not mention to any one, least of all to his father, the
events that have occurred and the words that have passed in this room. I
entreat him to bury me in his memory as, but for him, I might have been
buried in my grave. I cannot give my reason for making this strange
request. I can only implore him to grant it."

His voice faltered for the first time, and he hid his face on t