ers?"

The child locked up surprised; "Mamma said that after the good God, I
should love you best, because you have saved my life. I love you better
than all other people; but Mamma I love best of all."

He stooped over the fair face, and kissed the child's truthful loving
eyes, and her pale lips.

"You are right, little Fan," said he, speaking with difficulty, "she
deserves your love. Here is my bouquet, and give her my compliments."
He turned towards the door.

"What are you going away! the child called after him; won't you come,
and tell me some nice story."

"Another time," was all he could say. The nurse who just then came in,
tried to detain him, and wondered at his disturbed appearance, but he
passed her by, and hastening to his own room locked the door behind
him.

Once more alone, he was so overcome by the agony of his feelings that
he dropped into a chair and his strong frame shook with convulsive
though tearless sobs. But he promptly recovered himself, pressed his
hand to his heart as if to still its throbbings and proceeded to stuff
his few possessions into his travelling bag. Only his portfolio he kept
back; then he sat down at the table, and mechanically took out the
letter to his friend as if to add another postscript, but he vainly
sought for words and he finally laid it down, took up another sheet and
began to write a short account of the child's illness, with the
intention of leaving it to Lucille in case she should find another
consultation necessary.

He found a certain satisfaction in clearly wording his statement, and
in perceiving how steadily his hand wielded the pen. "At least I have
not yet lost my senses," he said aloud.

He had just finished this writing when a man's quick step was heard
approaching his room, and then came a knock at the door. He rose with
an angry feeling. He could not deny his presence, and yet this meeting
was intensely distasteful to him. He unlocked the door with a
countenance which was anything but inviting. The moustachied stranger
however entered with the most amiable air. Apparently he did not expect
a very gracious reception, but seemed fully determined not to let
himself be put out by anything.

"My dear doctor," he exclaimed in an engaging manner, and with a
friendly shake of the hand. "Pray excuse my intruding on you; Lucille
has told me that you refuse to listen to any thanks, but I am not to be
daunted; I am a soldier and would think it dishonourabl