"He does not look like a man who would require professional services,
doctor; he is sixty, I suppose, but he could tire out most of the
younger men either across country or after the partridges."

"Yes, he looks as hard as iron and sound as a roach, but appearances are
deceptive. I should have said as you do yesterday if anyone had asked
me. I have come to tell you to-day in confidence that he has not many
months, perhaps not many weeks to live."

The lawyer uttered an exclamation of surprise and regret.

"Yes, it is a bad business," the doctor went on, "he told me that when
he came back from hunting yesterday he went upstairs to change when
suddenly the room seemed to go round. Fortunately he had just sat down
on a couch and taken off his top boots, and he fell sideways on to it.
He says he was insensible for about half an hour; the first thing he was
conscious of was the servant knocking at the door, to say that dinner
was ready; he told the man that he did not feel well and should not go
down; he got off his things and lay down for an hour and then felt well
enough to write the note to me. Of course I made a thorough examination
of him, and found that, as I feared, it was a bad case of heart disease,
probably latent for a long time, but now I should say making rapid
progress. Of course I told him something of the truth.

"'Is it as bad as that?' he said. 'I have felt a lot of palpitation
lately after a hard run with the hounds, and fancied something must be
wrong. Well, say nothing about it, doctor; when it comes it must come,
but I don't want my affairs to be discussed or to know that every man I
meet is saying to himself 'poor old buffer, we shan't have him long
among us.'

"Then he said more seriously, 'I would rather it should be so than that
I should outgrow my strength and become a confirmed invalid. I have
enjoyed my life and have done my best to do my duty as a landlord and as
a magistrate. I am as prepared to die now as I should be twenty years
on. I have been rather a lonely man since I lost my wife. Cuthbert's
ways are not my ways, for he likes life in London, cares nothing for
field sports. But we can't all be cast in one groove, you know, and I
have never tried to persuade him to give up his life for mine, why
should I? However, though I wish you to tell no one else, I should be
glad if you will call on Brander and ask him to drive over. I made my
will years ago, but there are a few matters I shou