she died. Nobody but Mr. Midwinter and
Mr. Armadale (who insisted on going with him) followed her to the grave;
and nothing has been inscribed on the tombstone but the initial letter
of her Christian name and the date of her death. So, after all the harm
she has done, she rests at last; and so the two men whom she has injured
have forgiven her.

"Is there more to say on this subject before we leave it? On referring
to your letter, I find you have raised one other point, which may be
worth a moment's notice.

"You ask if there is reason to suppose that the doctor comes out of
the matter with hands which are really as clean as they look? My dear
Augustus, I believe the doctor to have been at the bottom of more of
this mischief than we shall ever find out; and to have profited by
the self-imposed silence of Mr. Midwinter and Mr. Armadale, as rogues
perpetually profit by the misfortunes and necessities of honest men.
It is an ascertained fact that he connived at the false statement about
Miss Milroy, which entrapped the two gentlemen into his house; and that
one circumstance (after my Old Bailey experience) is enough for _me_.
As to evidence against him, there is not a jot; and as to Retribution
overtaking him, I can only say I heartily hope Retribution may prove, in
the long run, to be the more cunning customer of the two. There is not
much prospect of it at present. The doctor's friends and admirers are,
I understand, about to present him with a Testimonial, 'expressive of
their sympathy under the sad occurrence which has thrown a cloud over
the opening of his Sanitarium, and of their undiminished confidence in
his integrity and ability as a medical man.' We live, Augustus, in an
age eminently favorable to the growth of all roguery which is careful
enough to keep up appearances. In this enlightened nineteenth century, I
look upon the doctor as one of our rising men.

"To turn now to pleasanter subjects than Sanitariums, I may tell you
that Miss Neelie is as good as well again, and is, in my humble opinion,
prettier than ever. She is staying in London under the care of a female
relative; and Mr. Armadale satisfies her of the fact of his existence
(in case she should forget it) regularly every day. They are to be
married in the spring, unless Mrs. Milroy's death causes the ceremony
to be postponed. The medical men are of opinion that the poor lady is
sinking at last. It may be a question of weeks or a question of months,