wer none of
them. I watched his face intently, noting every varying expression, but
saw nothing to inspire confidence. He seemed both troubled and
perplexed. Almost his first act was to bleed copiously.

Twice, before the physician came, had my father been inquired for at
the door, a thing altogether unusual at that hour of the day. Indeed,
his presence in the house at that hour was something which had not
occurred within a year.

"A gentleman is in the parlor, and says that he must see Mr. W----,"
said the waiter, speaking to me in a whisper, soon after the
physician's arrival.

"Did you tell him that father was very ill," said I.

"Yes; but he says that he must see him, sick or well."

"Go down and tell him that father is not in a state to be seen by any
one."

The waiter returned in a few moments, and beckoned me to the chamber
door.

"The man says that he is not going to leave the house until he sees
your father. I wish you would go down to him. He acts so strangely."

Without stopping to reflect, I left the apartment, and hurried down to
the parlor. I found a man walking the floor in a very excited manner.

"I wish to see Mr. W.----," said he, abruptly, and in an imperative way.

"He is very ill, sir," I replied, "and cannot be seen."

"I must see him, sick or well." His manner was excited.

"Impossible, sir."

The door bell rang again at this moment, and with some violence. I
paused, and stood listening until the servant answered the summons,
while the man strode twice the full length of the parlor.

"I wish to see Mr. W----." It was the voice of a man.

"He is sick," the servant replied.

"Give him my name--Mr. Walton--and say that I must see him for just a
moment." And this new visitor came in past the waiter, and entered the
parlor.

"Mr. Arnold!" he ejaculated, in evident surprise.

"Humph! This a nice business!" remarked the first visitor, in a rude
way, entirely indifferent to my presence or feelings. "A nice business,
I must confess!"

"Have you seen Mr. W.----?" was inquired.

"No. They say he's sick."

There was an unconcealed doubt in the voice that uttered this.

"Gentlemen," said I, stung into indignant courage, "this is an outrage!
What do you mean by it?"

"We wish to see your father," said the last comer, his manner changing,
and his voice respectful.

"You have both been told," was my firm reply, "that my father is too
ill to be seen."

"It isn't an hour, as I am t