en your other cousin yet--the young gentleman?'

'No.'

'H'm! Aren't you very lonely?' he enquired.

'We see no visitors here; but that, you know, I was prepared for.'

Doctor Bryerly read the wrinkles on his splay boot intently and peevishly,
and tapped the sole lightly on the ground.

'Yes, it is very lonely, and the people a bad lot. You'd be pleasanter
somewhere else--with Lady Knollys, for instance, eh?'

'Well, _there_ certainly. But I am very well here: really the time passes
very pleasantly; and my uncle is so kind. I have only to mention anything
that annoys me, and he will see that it is remedied: he is always
impressing that on me.'

'Yes, it is not a fit place for you,' said Doctor Bryerly. 'Of course,
about your uncle,' he resumed, observing my surprised look, 'it is all
right: but he's quite helpless, you know. At all events, _think_ about it.
Here's my address--Hans Emmanuel Bryerly, M.D., 17 King Street, Covent
Garden, London--don't lose it, mind,' and he tore the leaf out of his
note-book.

'Here's my fly at the door, and you must--you must' (he was looking at his
watch)--'mind you _must_ think of it seriously; and so, you see, don't let
anyone see that. You'll be sure to leave it throwing about. The best way
will be just to scratch it on the door of your press, inside, you know; and
don't put my name--you'll remember that--only the rest of the address; and
burn this. Quince is with you?'

'Yes,' I answered, glad to have a satisfactory word to say.

'Well, don't let her go; it's a bad sign if they wish it. Don't consent,
mind; but just tip me a hint and you'll have me down. And any letters you
get from Lady Knollys, you know, for she's very plain-spoken, you'd better
burn them off-hand. And I've stayed too long, though; mind what I say,
scratch it with a pin, and burn that, and not a word to a mortal about it.
Good-bye; oh, I was taking away your book.'

And so, in a fuss, with a slight shake of the hand, getting up his
umbrella, his bag, and tin box, he hurried from the room; and in a minute
more, I heard the sound of his vehicle as it drove away.

I looked after it with a sigh; the uneasy sensations which I had
experienced respecting my sojourn at Bartram-Haugh were re-awakened.

My ugly, vulgar, true friend was disappearing beyond those gigantic lime
trees which hid Bartram from the eyes of the outer world. The fly, with the
doctor's valise on top, vanished, and I sighed an anxious sigh