But he
never did choose, and I was never enlightened. He remained with me
till I removed to London to try my fortune there as a physician for the
second time, and then he went his way and I went mine, and we have never
seen one another since.

I can add no more. I may have been right in my suspicion, or I may have
been wrong. All I know is that, in those days of my country practice,
when I came home late, and found my assistant asleep, and woke him, he
used to look, in coming to, wonderfully like the stranger at Doncaster
as he raised himself in the bed on that memorable night.

THE SIXTH DAY

AN oppressively mild temperature, and steady, soft, settled rain--dismal
weather for idle people in the country. Miss Jessie, after looking
longingly out of the window, resigned herself to circumstances, and gave
up all hope of a ride. The gardener, the conservatory, the rabbits,
the raven, the housekeeper, and, as a last resource, even the neglected
piano, were all laid under contribution to help her through the time. It
was a long day, but thanks to her own talent for trifling, she contrived
to occupy it pleasantly enough.

Still no news of my son. The time was getting on now, and it was surely
not unreasonable to look for some tidings of him.

To-day Morgan and I both finished our third and last stories. I
corrected my brother's contribution with no very great difficulty on
this occasion, and numbered it Nine. My own story came next, and was
thus accidentally distinguished as the last of the series--Number Ten.
When I dropped the two corresponding cards into the bowl, the thought
that there would be now no more to add seemed to quicken my prevailing
sense of anxiety on the subject of George's return. A heavy depression
hung upon my spirits, and I went out desperately in the rain to shake my
mind free of oppressing influences by dint of hard bodily exercise.

The number drawn this evening was Three. On the production of the
corresponding manuscript it proved to be my turn to read again.

"I can promise you a little variety to-night," I said, addressing our
fair guest, "if I can promise nothing else. This time it is not a story
of my own writing that I am about to read, but a copy of a very curious
correspondence which I found among my professional papers."

Jessie's countenance fell. "Is there no story in it?" she asked, rather
discontentedly.

"Certainly there is a story in it," I replied--"a story of a much
lighter