and doubtful, as if she hesitated to admit me. Was it possible
I had come to attend Olivia's husband?

"I don't know whatever to do!" she ejaculated; "he is very ill to-night,
but I don't think he ought to see _you_--I don't think he would."

"Listen to me," I said; "I do not think there is another man in London
as well qualified to do him good."

"Why?" she asked, eagerly.

"Because I have made this disease my special study," I answered. "Mind,
I am not anxious to attend him. I came here simply because my friend is
out of town. If he wishes to see me, I will see him, and do my best for
him. It rests entirely with himself."

"Will you wait here a few minutes?" she asked, "while I see what he
will do?"

She left me in the dimly-lighted hall, pervaded by a musty smell of
unventilated rooms, and a damp, dirty underground floor. The place was
altogether sordid, and dingy, and miserable. At last I heard her step
coming down the two flights of stairs, and I went to meet her.

"He will see you," she said, eying me herself with a steady gaze of
curiosity.

Her curiosity was not greater than mine. I was anxious to see Olivia's
husband, partly from the intense aversion I felt instinctively toward
him. He was lying back in an old, worn-out easy-chair, with a woman's
shawl thrown across his shoulders, for the night was chilly. His face
had the first sickly hue and emaciation of the disease, and was probably
refined by it. It was a handsome, regular, well-cut face, narrow across
the brows, with thin, firm lips, and eyes perfect in shape, but cold and
glittering as steel. I knew afterward that he was fifteen years older
than Olivia. Across his knees lay a shaggy, starved-looking cat, which
he held fast by the fore-paws, and from time to time entertained himself
by teasing and tormenting it. He scrutinized me as keenly as I did him.

"I believe we are in some sort connected. Dr. Martin Dobree," he said,
smiling coldly; "my half-sister, Kate Daltrey, is married to your
father, Dr. Dobree."

"Yes," I answered, shortly. The subject was eminently disagreeable to
me, and I had no wish to pursue it with him.

"Ay! she will make him a happy man," he continued, mockingly; "you are
not yourself married, I believe, Dr. Martin Dobree?"

I took no notice whatever of his question, or the preceding remark, but
passed on to formal inquiries concerning his health. My close study of
his malady helped me here. I could assist him to descr