sed by Euneece. "Are you going to
withdraw from the case?" I asked. "I am coming back to the case," he
answered, "to-morrow morning."

It had been a disappointment to me to receive no answer to the telegram
which I had sent to Mr. Dunboyne the elder. The next day's post brought
the explanation in a letter to Philip from his father, directed to him
at the hotel here. This showed that my telegram, giving my address at
this house, had not been received. Mr. Dunboyne announced that he had
returned to Ireland, finding the air of London unendurable, after the
sea-breezes at home. If Philip had already married, his father would
leave him to a life of genteel poverty with Helena Gracedieu. If he had
thought better of it, his welcome was waiting for him.

Little did Mr. Dunboyne know what changes had taken place since he and
his son had last met, and what hope might yet present itself of brighter
days for poor Euneece! I thought of writing to him. But how would that
crabbed old man receive a confidential letter from a lady who was a
stranger?

My doubts were set at rest by Philip himself. He asked me to write a few
lines of reply to his father; declaring that his marriage with Helena
was broken off--that he had not given up all hope of being permitted to
offer the sincere expression of his penitence to Euneece--and that
he would gladly claim his welcome, as soon as he was well enough to
undertake the journey to Ireland. When he had signed the letter, I was
so pleased that I made a smart remark. I said: "This is a treaty of
peace between father and son."

When the doctor arrived in the morning, and found the change for the
better in his patient confirmed, he did justice to us at last. He
spoke kindly, and even gratefully, to Euneece. No more allusions to the
hospital as a place of safety escaped him. He asked me cautiously for
news of Helena. I could only tell him that she had gone out at her
customary time, and had returned at her customary time. He did not
attempt to conceal that my reply had made him uneasy.

"Are you still afraid that she may succeed in poisoning Philip?" I
asked.

"I am afraid of her cunning," he said. "If she is charged with
attempting to poison young Dunboyne, she has some system of defense, you
may rely on it, for which we are not prepared. There, in my opinion, is
the true reason for her extraordinary insensibility to her own danger."

Two more days passed, and we were still safe under the protec