ng, doctor."

"What do you want?"

"How is Miss Huntingdon?"

"What is Miss Huntingdon to you?"

"She was one of my mother's best friends, though only a little girl at the
time."

"And you love her for your mother's sake, I suppose? Truly filial."

"How is she to-night? Rumours are so unreliable, that I came to you to find
out the truth."

"She is going to die, I am afraid."

A sudden pallor overspread Russell's face, but he sat erect and motionless,
and, fastening his keen eyes upon him, the doctor added--

"She is about to be transplanted to a better world, if there is such a
place. She is too good and pure for this cursed, pestiferous earth."

"Is the case so utterly hopeless? I cannot, I will not, believe it!" came
indistinctly from the young man's bloodless lips.

"I tell you I know better! She stands on a hair stretched across her grave.
If I don't succeed to-night in making her sleep (which I have been trying
to accomplish for two days), she can't possibly live. And what is that
whole confounded crew of factory savages in comparison with her precious
life?"

"Is it true that her illness is attributable to nursing those people?"

"Yes. D----l take the Row! I wish the river would swallow it up."

"If I could only see her!" exclaimed Russell, and an expression of such
intense agony settled on his features, usually so inflexible, that his
companion was startled and astonished. The doctor regarded him a moment
with perplexity and compassion mingled in his own face; then light broke
upon him, and, rising, he laid his hand heavily on Russell's shoulder.

"Where are you going, Aubrey?"

"Back to my office."

"Is there any message which you would like for me to deliver to her, if she
should recover consciousness? You may trust me, young man."

"Thank you; I have no message to send. I merely called to ask after her. I
trust she will yet recover. Good night."

He walked on rapidly till he reached the door of his office. The gas was
burning brightly over his desk, and red tape and legal-cap beckoned him in;
but fathomless blue eyes, calm as mid-ocean, looked up at him, and, without
entering, he turned, and went through the cold and darkness to the
cemetery, to his mother's tomb. She had been his comfort in boyish sorrows,
and habit was strong; he went to her grave for it still.

When Russell left him, Dr. Arnold carefully weighed out the powder and rode
back to the Hill. He could perceive no change, u