I have ever been near him. If he is like the
others, he must be delirious--I will leave him before he comes to
himself--but now let me go--I must go."

"I wish my tongue had been bitten out before I had named him to
you. He would do well enough without you; and, I dare say, if he
recognises you, he will only be annoyed."

"It is very likely," said Ruth, heavily.

"Annoyed,--why! he may curse you for your unasked-for care of him.
I have heard my poor mother--and she was as pretty and delicate a
creature as you are--cursed for showing tenderness when it was not
wanted. Now, be persuaded by an old man like me, who has seen enough
of life to make his heart ache--leave this fine gentleman to his
fate. I'll promise you to get him as good a nurse as can be had for
money."

"No!" said Ruth, with dull persistency--as if she had not attended to
his dissuasions; "I must go. I will leave him before he recognises
me."

"Why, then," said the old surgeon, "if you're so bent upon it,
I suppose I must let you. It is but what my mother would have
done--poor, heart-broken thing! However, come along, and let us
make the best of it. It saves me a deal of trouble, I know; for, if
I have you for a right hand, I need not worry myself continually
with wondering how he is taken care of. Go! get your bonnet, you
tender-hearted fool of a woman! Let us get you out of the house
without any more scenes or explanations; I'll make all straight with
the Bensons."

"You will not tell my secret, Mr Davis," she said, abruptly.

"No! not I! Does the woman think I had never to keep a secret of the
kind before? I only hope he'll lose his election, and never come near
the place again. After all," continued he, sighing, "I suppose it is
but human nature!" He began recalling the circumstances of his own
early life, and dreamily picturing scenes in the grey dying embers of
the fire; and he was almost startled when she stood before him, ready
equipped, grave, pale, and quiet.

"Come along!" said he. "If you're to do any good at all, it must be
in these next three days. After that, I'll ensure his life for this
bout; and mind! I shall send you home then; for he might know you,
and I'll have no excitement to throw him back again, and no sobbing
and crying from you. But now every moment your care is precious to
him. I shall tell my own story to the Bensons, as soon as I have
installed you."

Mr Donne lay in the best room of the Queen's Hotel--no one with