swered Mr. Speedwell. "I should not otherwise
have troubled you with this interview. It is a matter of professional
duty to warn you, as his wife, that he is in danger. He may be seized at
any moment by a paralytic stroke. The only chance for him--a very poor
one, I am bound to say--is to make him alter his present mode of life
without loss of time."

"In one way he will be obliged to alter it," said Anne. "He has received
notice from the landlady to quit this cottage."

Mr. Speedwell looked surprised.

"I think you will find that the notice has been withdrawn," he said.
"I can only assure you that Mr. Delamayn distinctly informed me, when I
advised change of air, that he had decided, for reasons of his own, on
remaining here."

(Another in the series of incomprehensible domestic events! Hester
Dethridge--on all other occasions the most immovable of women--had
changed her mind!)

"Setting that aside," proceeded the surgeon, "there are two preventive
measures which I feel bound to suggest. Mr. Delamayn is evidently
suffering (though he declines to admit it himself) from mental anxiety.
If he is to have a chance for his life, that anxiety must be set at
rest. Is it in your power to relieve it?"

"It is not even in my power, Mr. Speedwell, to tell you what it is."

The surgeon bowed, and went on:

"The second caution that I have to give you," he said, "is to keep him
from drinking spirits. He admits having committed an excess in that way
the night before last. In his state of health, drinking means literally
death. If he goes back to the brandy-bottle--forgive me for saying it
plainly; the matter is too serious to be trifled with--if he goes
back to the brandy-bottle, his life, in my opinion, is not worth five
minutes' purchase. Can you keep him from drinking?"

Anne answered sadly and plainly:

"I have no influence over him. The terms we are living on here--"

Mr. Speedwell considerately stopped her.

"I understand," he said. "I will see his brother on my way home."
He looked for a moment at Anne. "You are far from well yourself," he
resumed. "Can I do any thing for you?"

"While I am living my present life, Mr. Speedwell, not even your skill
can help me."

The surgeon took his leave. Anne hurried back up stairs, before Geoffrey
could re-enter the cottage. To see the man who had laid her life
waste--to meet the vindictive hatred that looked furtively at her out
of his eyes--at the moment when sentence of