ed features broke into a smile; pleasant and fair features
once, with a gentle look upon them. The black wig and whiskers lay near
him; but the real hair, light and scanty, was pushed back from the damp
brow.

"No use, then, to think of giving me up: no time left for it."

"I question if Lord Hartledon would give you up were you in rude health.
I'm sure he would not," added Mr. Hillary, endorsing his opinion rather
emphatically. "If ever there was a kindly nature in the world, it's his.
What do you want with him?"

"I should like to say a word to him in private," responded Pike.

"Then you'd better not wait to say it. I'll tell him of your wish. It's
all safe. Why, Pike, if the police themselves came they wouldn't trouble
to touch you now."

"I shouldn't much care if they did," said the man. "_I_ haven't cared for
a long while; but there were the others, you know."

"Yes," said Mr. Hillary.

"Look here," said Pike; "no need to tell him particulars; leave them
till I'm gone. I don't know that I'd like _him_ to look me in the face,
knowing them."

"As you will," said Mr. Hillary, falling in with the wish more readily
than he might have done for anyone but a dying man.

He had patients out of Calne, beyond Hartledon, and called in returning.
It was a snowy day; and as the surgeon was winding towards the house,
past the lodge, with a quick step, he saw a white figure marching across
the park. It was Lord Hartledon. He had been caught in the storm, and
came up laughing.

"Umbrellas are at a premium," observed Mr. Hillary, with the freedom long
intimacy had sanctioned.

"It didn't snow when I came out," said Hartledon, shaking himself, and
making light of the matter. "Were you coming to honour me with a morning
call?"

"I was and I wasn't," returned the surgeon. "I've no time for morning
calls, unless they are professional ones; but I wanted to say a word to
you. Have you a mind for a further walk in the snow?"

"As far as you like."

"There's a patient of mine drawing very near the time when doctors can do
no more for him. He has expressed a wish to see you, and I undertook to
convey the request."

"I'll go, of course," said Val, all his kindliness on the alert. "Who is
it?"

"A black sheep," answered the surgeon. "I don't know whether that will
make any difference?"

"It ought not," said Val rather warmly. "Black sheep have more need of
help than white ones, when it comes to the last. I suppose it's a