rom the room; while Pratt quietly
sat down, half-dressed, to think it out, which meant to light his pipe.

Meanwhile his friend had rushed down, taken Sam Jenkles's cab, which was
waiting, and, as he was being driven through the streets, went over the
incidents of his return--how they had called on a suburban surgeon, who
had administered a styptic, and ordered them to go back very gently--how
Mrs Lane had met him with a look of reproachful agony in her eyes, as
he lifted out the half insensible girl, and bore her upstairs; and then,
as he turned to go, after laying poor Netta on the bed, she had held out
her hands to him, taking his in hers, and kissing them--so unmanning him
that he had sunk upon his knees by her side, and hid his face.

He could hardly recall the rest--only that he had had to go to four
doctors before he could find one ready to come to the shabby street; and
when at last he had been brought to the poor girl's bedside, he had
recommended the hospital.

It was this that had sent the young man to Frank Pratt's for money, the
value of which he now thoroughly realised for the first time in his
life.

The old white-haired physician came with him at once--Ratty, the horse,
never once causing trouble; and Netta gave the messenger a grateful
smile, as she saw the mission upon which he had been. Then, with his
mind in a whirl, Richard waited to see the physician, taking him over
into his own rooms, that his questions might be unheard.

"But she will recover?" said Richard, eagerly.

The old physician shook his head.

"It is but a matter of time," he said, gravely. "I can do nothing.
Quiet, change, nutritious food, are the best doctors for a case like
hers. A southern climate might benefit her a little; but it would be
cruelty to send her away from home, and might do more harm than good.
The poor girl is in a deep decline."

Richard was alone. What an end to the pleasant day he had projected!--
one which should do his poor little neighbour good, and wherein at the
same time he could quietly tell her of his position, and so stop at once
any nascent idea she might have that he was seeking to win her love.
How could he know, he asked himself, that matters had gone so far--that
the poor child really cared for him--for him, who had not a disloyal
thought to Valentina Rea; who, like the poor sufferer, lay that night
wakeful, and with a weary, gnawing pain at her heart--in the one case
mingled of hopeless