time she had learned the name of the great physician was in a hansom
driving to his house. This rapid action was a relief to her. Presently
she arrived at her destination. Yes, the doctor was at home. He was
engaged for the present with another patient, but if Charlotte liked to
wait he would see her in her turn. Certainly she would wait. She gave
her card to the man who admitted her, and was shown into a room, very
dark and dismal, where three or four patients were already enduring a
time of suspense waiting for their interviews. Charlotte, knowing
nothing of illness, knew, if possible, still less of doctors' rooms. A
sense of added depression came over her as she seated herself on the
nearest chair, and glanced, from the weary and suffering faces of those
who waited anxiously for their doom, to the periodicals and newspapers
piled on the table. A gentleman seated not far off handed her the last
number of the _Illustrated London News_. She took it, turning the pages
mechanically. To her dying day she never got over the dislike to that
special paper which that half hour created.

One by one the patients' names were called by the grave footman as he
came to summon them. One by one they went away, and at last, at last,
Charlotte's turn came. She had entered into conversation with a little
girl of about sixteen, who appeared to be in consumption, and the little
girl had praised the great physician in such terms that Charlotte felt
more than ever that against his opinion there could be no appeal. And
now at last she was in the great man's presence, and, healthy girl that
she was, her heart beat so loud, and her face grew so white, that the
practised eyes of the doctor might have been pardoned for mistaking her
for a _bona-fide_ patient.

"What are you suffering from?" he asked of her.

"It is not myself, Sir George," she said, then making a great effort to
control her voice--"I have come about my father--my father is one of
your patients. His name is Harman."

Sir George turned to a large book at his side, opened it at a certain
page, read quietly for a moment, then closing it, fixed his keen eyes on
the young lady.

"You are right," he said, "your father, Mr. Harman, is one of my
patients. He came to see me no later than last week."

"Sir," said Charlotte, and her voice grew steadier and braver as she
spoke, "I am in perfect health, and my father is ill. I have come here
to-day to learn from your lips the exact tru