you. You are overanxious. The young lady is
not seriously ill, and I am a doctor. The lady of course is frightened,"
he sneered. "I understand that perfectly."

"The name and address of the doctor is--?" Terence continued.

"There is no other doctor," Rodriguez replied sullenly. "Every one has
confidence in me. Look! I will show you."

He took out a packet of old letters and began turning them over as if in
search of one that would confute Terence's suspicions. As he searched,
he began to tell a story about an English lord who had trusted him--a
great English lord, whose name he had, unfortunately, forgotten.

"There is no other doctor in the place," he concluded, still turning
over the letters.

"Never mind," said Terence shortly. "I will make enquiries for myself."
Rodriguez put the letters back in his pocket.

"Very well," he remarked. "I have no objection."

He lifted his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, as if to repeat that
they took the illness much too seriously and that there was no other
doctor, and slipped out, leaving behind him an impression that he was
conscious that he was distrusted, and that his malice was aroused.

After this Terence could no longer stay downstairs. He went up, knocked
at Rachel's door, and asked Helen whether he might see her for a few
minutes. He had not seen her yesterday. She made no objection, and went
and sat at a table in the window.

Terence sat down by the bedside. Rachel's face was changed. She looked
as though she were entirely concentrated upon the effort of keeping
alive. Her lips were drawn, and her cheeks were sunken and flushed,
though without colour. Her eyes were not entirely shut, the lower half
of the white part showing, not as if she saw, but as if they remained
open because she was too much exhausted to close them. She opened them
completely when he kissed her. But she only saw an old woman slicing a
man's head off with a knife.

"There it falls!" she murmured. She then turned to Terence and asked
him anxiously some question about a man with mules, which he could not
understand. "Why doesn't he come? Why doesn't he come?" she repeated. He
was appalled to think of the dirty little man downstairs in connection
with illness like this, and turning instinctively to Helen, but she was
doing something at a table in the window, and did not seem to realise
how great the shock to him must be. He rose to go, for he could not
endure to listen any longer; his heart