Gospel. Do you think you or Carry could make me believe that she would
trifle with such an awful subject as her own death? No. I would take my
oath that Olivia would never have had that letter sent, or write to me
those few lines of farewell, but to let me know that she was really
dead."

His voice faltered a little, as though even he were moved by the thought
of her early death. Mrs. Foster glanced at him jealously, and he looked
back at her with a provoking curve about his lips. For the moment there
was more hatred than love in the regards exchanged between them. I saw
it was useless to pursue the subject.

"Well," I said, "I came to arrange a time for Dr. Lowry to visit you
with me, for the purpose of a thorough examination. It is possible that
Dr. Senior may be induced to join us, though he has retired from
practice. I am anxious for his opinion as well as Lowry's." "You really
wish to cure me?" he answered, raising his eyebrows.

"To be sure," I replied. "I can have no other object in undertaking your
case. Do you imagine it is a pleasure to me? It is possible that your
death would be a greater benefit to the world than your life, but that
is no question for me to decide. Neither is it for me to consider
whether you are my friend or my enemy. There is simply a life to be
saved if possible; whose, is not my business. Do you understand me?"

"I think so," he said. "I am nothing except material for you to exercise
your craft upon."

"Precisely," I answered; "that and nothing more. As some writer says,
'It is a mere matter of instinct with me. I attend you just as a
Newfoundland dog saves a drowning man.'"

I went from him to Hanover Street, where I found Captain Carey, who met
me with the embarrassment and shamefacedness of a young girl. I had not
yet seen them since my return from Normandy. There was much to tell
them, though they already knew that my expedition had failed, and that
it was still doubtful whether Ellen Martineau and Olivia were the same
person.

Captain Carey walked along the street with me toward home. He had taken
my arm in his most confidential manner, but he did not open his lips
till we reached Brook Street.

"Martin," he said, "I've turned it over in my own mind, and I agree with
Tardif. Olivia is no more dead than you or me. We shall find out all
about it in August, if not before. Cheer up, my boy! I tell you what:
Julia and I will wait till we are sure about Olivia."

"No, no," I