ng-room in very high spirits, and
took up his letters. He had written to Maitland the night before, saying
little but, "Come home at once. Margaret is found. She is going to be my
wife. You can't come too quickly, if you wish to hear of something very
much to your advantage." A load was off his mind, and he felt as _Romeo_
did just before the bad news about _Juliet_ reached him.

In this buoyant disposition, Barton opened his letters. The first was in
a hand he knew very well--that of a man who had been his fellow-student
in Paris and Vienna, and who was now a prosperous young physician. The
epistle ran thus:

"Dear Barton.--I'm off to the West of Ireland, for a fortnight People
are pretty fit, as the season has not run far. Most of my patients have
not yet systematically overeaten themselves. I want you to do something
for me. Martin & Wright, the lawyers, have a queer little bit of medical
jurisprudence, about which young Wright, who was at Oriel in our time,
asked my opinion. I recommended him to see you, as it is more in your
line; and _my_ line will presently be attached to that eminent general
practitioner, 'The Blue Doctor.' May he prosper with the Galway salmon!

"Thine,

"Alfred Franks."

"Lucky beggar!" thought Barton to himself, but he was too happy to envy
even a man who had a fortnight of salmon-fishing before him.

The next letter he opened was in a blue envelope, with the stamp
of Messrs. Martin & Wright. The brief and and formal note which it
contained requested Dr. Barton to call, that very day if possible, at
the chambers of the respectable firm, on "business of great importance."

"What in the world can they want?" thought Barton. "Nobody can have
left _me_ any money. Besides, Franks says it is a point in medical
jurisprudence. That sounds attractive. I'll go down after breakfast."

He walked along the sunny embankment, and that bright prospect of
houses, trees, and ships have never seemed so beautiful. In an hour he
was in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and had shaken hands with young Wright,
whom he knew; had been introduced to old Wright, a somewhat stately man
of business, and had taken his seat in the chair sacred to clients.

"Dr. Barton," said old Mr. Wright, solemnly, "you are, I think, the
author of this book?"

He handed to Barton a copy of his own volume, in its gray paper cover,
"Les Tatouages Etude Medico-Legale".

"Certainly," said Barton. "I wrote it when I was in Paris I had plenty