and,
meantime, I'll do my best to relieve her anxiety. Good-by."

Memory sometimes acts like an old flint-gun: it hangs fire, yet ends
by going off. While Dr. Amboyne was driving home, the swarthy, but
handsome, features of the workman he had befriended seemed to enter his
mind more deeply than during the hurry, and he said to himself, "Jet
black hair; great black eyes; and olive skin; they are rare in these
parts; and, somehow, they remind me a little of HER."

Then his mind went back, in a moment, over many years, to the days when
he was stalwart, but not unwieldy, and loved a dark but peerless beauty,
loved her deeply, and told his love, and was esteemed and pitied, but
another was beloved.

And so sad, yet absorbing, was the retrospect of his love, his sorrow,
and her own unhappy lot, that it blotted out of his mind, for a time,
the very youth whose features and complexion had launched him into the
past.

But the moment his horse's feet rang on the stones, this burly
philosopher shook off the past, and set himself to recover lost time.
He drove rapidly to several patients, and, at six o'clock, was at 13
Chettle Street, and asked for the lady on the second floor, "Yes,
sir: she is at home," was the reply. "But I don't know; she lives very
retired. She hasn't received any visits since they came. However, they
rent the whole floor, and the sitting-room fronts you."

Dr. Amboyne mounted the stair and knocked at the door. A soft and mellow
voice bade him enter. He went in, and a tall lady in black, with plain
linen collar and wristbands, rose to receive him. They confronted
each other. Time and trouble had left their trace, but there were the
glorious eyes, and jet black hair, and the face, worn and pensive, but
still beautiful. It was the woman he had loved, the only one.

"Mrs. Little!" said he, in an indescribable tone.

"Dr. Amboyne!"

For a few moments he forgot the task he had undertaken; and could only
express his astonishment and pleasure at seeing her once more.

Then he remembered why he was there; and the office he had undertaken so
lightly alarmed him now.

His first instinct was to gain time. Accordingly, he began to chide her
gently for having resided in the town and concealed it from him; then,
seeing her confused and uncomfortable at that reproach, and in the mood
to be relieved by any change of topic, he glided off, with no little
address, as follows:--"Observe the consequences: here have I