an. It
was from Brookford that that young girl with her brown eyes and dark
hair had walked into his life so long ago. It was from Brookford that
the decree had come that had doomed him to a life of loneliness and
exile. A desire seized him to see the place. Abby Brooke had been living
a few years before. She might be living now.

As the Doctor descended from the cars, he was met by Keith, who told him
that the patient was the daughter of General Huntington--the little girl
he had known so long ago.

"I thought, perhaps, it was your widow," said the Doctor.

A little dash of color stole into Keith's grave face, then flickered
out.

"No." He changed the subject, and went on to say that the other
physicians had arranged to meet him at the house. Then he gave him a
little history of the case.

"You are very much interested in her?"

"I have known her a long time, you see. Yes. Her aunt is a friend of
mine."

"He is in love with her," said the old man to himself. "She has cut the
widow out."

As they entered the hall, Miss Abby came out of a room. She looked worn
and ill.

"Ah!" said Keith. "Here she is." He turned to present the Doctor, but
stopped with his lips half opened. The two stood fronting each, other,
their amazed eyes on each other's faces, as it were across the space of
a whole generation.

"Theophilus!"

"Abby!"

This was all. The next moment they were shaking hands as if they had
parted the week before instead of thirty-odd years ago. "I told you I
would come if you ever needed me," said the Doctor. "I have come."

"And I never needed you more, and I have needed you often. It was good
in you to come--for my little girl." Her voice suddenly broke, and she
turned away, her handkerchief at her eyes.

The Doctor's expression settled into one of deep concern. "There--there.
Don't distress yourself. We must reserve our powers. We may need them.
Now, if you will show me to my room for a moment, I would like to get
myself ready before going in to see your little girl."

Just as the Doctor reappeared, the other doctors came out of the
sick-room, the local physician, a simple young man, following the city
specialist with mingled pride and awe. The latter was a silent,
self-reliant man with a keen eye, thin lips, and a dry, business manner.
They were presented to the Doctor as Dr. Memberly and Dr. Locaman, and
looked him over. There was a certain change of manner in each of them:
the younger man, af