tter; for I remembered his written words to my
brother, declaring that he would accuse his daughter of having caused
her mother's death; and I suspected him even then, of wishing to shift
the shame of his conduct towards his unhappy wife from himself to his
child.

After writing this second letter, I set forth instantly for the house
to which Mr. Bernard had directed me. No thought of myself; no thought,
even, of the peril suggested by the ominous disclosure about Mannion,
in the postscript to the surgeon's letter, ever crossed my mind. In the
great stillness, in the heavenly serenity that had come to my spirit,
the wasting fire of every sensation which was only of this world, seemed
quenched for ever.

It was eleven o'clock when I arrived at the house. A slatternly, sulky
woman opened the door to me. "Oh! I suppose you're another doctor,"
she muttered, staring at me with scowling eyes. "I wish you were the
undertaker, to get her out of my house before we all catch our deaths of
her! There! there's the other doctor coming down stairs; he'll show you
the room--I won't go near it."

As I took the candle from her hand, I saw that Mr. Bernard was
approaching me from the stairs.

"You can do no good, I am afraid," he said, "but I am glad you have
come."

"There is no hope, then?"

"In my opinion, none. Turner came here this morning, whether she
recognised him, or not, in her delirium, I cannot say; but she grew so
much worse in his presence, that I insisted on his not seeing her
again, except under medical permission. Just now, there is no one in the
room--are you willing to go up stairs at once?"

"Does she still speak of me in her wanderings?"

"Yes, as incessantly as ever."

"Then I am ready to go to her bedside."

"Pray believe that I feel deeply what a sacrifice you are making. Since
I wrote to you, much that she has said in her delirium has told me"--(he
hesitated)--"has told me more, I am afraid, than you would wish me to
have known, as a comparative stranger to you. I will only say, that
secrets unconsciously disclosed on the death-bed are secrets sacred
to me, as they are to all who pursue my calling; and that what I have
unavoidably heard above stairs, is doubly sacred in my estimation, as
affecting a near and dear relative of one of my oldest friends." He
paused, and took my hand very kindly; then added: "I am sure you will
think yourself rewarded for any trial to your feelings to-night, if you
can o