endly eye
was upon me; a friendly voice was cheering me on. "The dead shall look
me through and through," says Tennyson. For my part I should wish for a
good, wise man to look me through and through; feel the pulse of my soul
from time to time, when it was ailing, and detect what was there
contrary to reason and to right. Dr. Senior's hearty "God bless you!"
brought strength and blessing with it.

I went straight from Fulham to Bellringer Street. A healthy impulse to
fulfil all my duty, however difficult, was in its first fervid moment of
action. Nevertheless there was a subtle hope within me founded upon one
chance that was left--it was just possible that Foster might refuse to
be made the subject of an experiment; for an experiment it was.

I found him not yet out of bed. Mrs. Foster was busy at her task of
engrossing in the sitting-room--- a task she performed so well that I
could not believe but that she had been long accustomed to it. I
followed her to Foster's bedroom, a small close attic at the back, with
a cheerless view of chimneys and the roofs of houses. There was no means
of ventilation, except by opening a window near the head of the bed,
when the draught of cold air would blow full upon him. He looked
exceedingly worn and wan. The doubt crossed me, whether the disease had
not made more progress than we supposed. His face fell as he saw the
expression upon mine.

"Worse, eh?" he said; "don't say I am worse."

I sat down beside him, and told him what I believed to be his chance of
life; not concealing from him that I proposed to try, if he gave his
consent, a mode of treatment which had never been practised before. His
eye, keen and sharp as that of a lynx, seemed to read my thoughts as Dr.
Senior's had done.

"Martin Dobree," he said, in a voice so different from his ordinary
caustic tone that it almost startled me, "I can trust you. I put myself
with implicit confidence into your hands."

The last chance--dare I say the last hope?--was gone. I stood pledged on
my honor as a physician, to employ this discovery, which had been laid
open to me by my mother's fatal illness, for the benefit of the man
whose life was most harmful to Olivia and myself. I felt suffocated,
stifled. I opened the window for a minute or two, and leaned through it
to catch the fresh breath of the outer air.

"I must tell you," I said, when I drew my head in again, "that you must
not expect to regain your health and strength so