be wrong. Circumstances!
What circumstances? Did he perhaps mean that Mr Gresham's affairs
were not so bad as they had been thought to be? If so, that alone
would hardly alter the matter, for what could she give in return? "I
would give him the world for one word of love," she said to herself,
"and never think that he was my debtor. Ah! how beggarly the heart
must be that speculates on such gifts as those!"

But there was her uncle's opinion: he still thought that they might
be married. Oh, why had she sent her letter? and why had she made it
so cold? With such a letter as that before him, Frank could not do
other than consent to her proposal. And then, why did he not at least
answer it?

On the Sunday afternoon there arrived at Greshamsbury a man and a
horse from Boxall Hill, bearing a letter from Lady Scatcherd to Dr
Thorne, earnestly requesting the doctor's immediate attendance. "I
fear everything is over with poor Louis," wrote the unhappy mother.
"It has been very dreadful. Do come to me; I have no other friend,
and I am nearly worn through with it. The man from the city"--she
meant Dr Fillgrave--"comes every day, and I dare say he is all very
well, but he has never done much good. He has not had spirit enough
to keep the bottle from him; and it was that, and that only, that
most behoved to be done. I doubt you won't find him in this world
when you arrive here."

Dr Thorne started immediately. Even though he might have to meet Dr
Fillgrave, he could not hesitate, for he went not as a doctor to the
dying man, but as the trustee under Sir Roger's will. Moreover, as
Lady Scatcherd had said, he was her only friend, and he could not
desert her at such a moment for an army of Fillgraves. He told
Mary he should not return that night; and taking with him a small
saddle-bag, he started at once for Boxall Hill.

As he rode up to the hall door, Dr Fillgrave was getting into his
carriage. They had never met so as to speak to each other since that
memorable day, when they had their famous passage of arms in the hall
of that very house before which they both now stood. But, at the
present moment, neither of them was disposed to renew the fight.

"What news of your patient, Dr Fillgrave?" said our doctor, still
seated on his sweating horse, and putting his hand lightly to his
hat.

Dr Fillgrave could not refrain from one moment of supercilious
disdain: he gave one little chuck to his head, one little twist to
his neck,