took this man for Dale?"

"Of course."

"But you had surely seen him at my house?"

"I saw from a distance the man arrested on the wedding morn, but he was
surrounded by the crowd, and I never caught his face."

"But you were present at the trial," said Brettison.

"No. I never entered the court. I could not go to gloat over my
rival's fall. I merely waited for the result."

"I remember now; I saw you waiting there," said Brettison thoughtfully.
"And I, of course, saw the prisoners side by side, but from the gallery,
right behind and far above. I never caught a glimpse of either face
until they turned to leave the dock, and then it was this man's only--
the other prisoner went first."

"And I could not see in this wretched madman's altered features the
scoundrel I had seen in court!" cried the admiral.

"Who could have dreamed it was the same?" cried Guest. "Poor wretch!
his face was like an old well-worn shilling till that fit came on.
Here! Mal, old fellow, quick!"

"It is nothing--nothing," said Brettison faintly as Stratton saved him
from a heavy fall. "My encounter last night--a little giddy still.
Your arm, my boy; I'm better now. Well; for have I not saved you both--
brought you full happiness and joy?"

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

THE LAST CLOUD.

"Jules, you are a bad--a naughty!" cried Margot angrily. "You and your
wife never tell me of what takes place while I sleep; you send me out
with my patient, and never tell me he is dangerous; and then you rob me
of my bread by getting him sent away. It is ruin, and I must go back to
the town and starve."

"Never," cried a pleasant little voice behind her; and she turned
sharply round to see Edie and Guest, the former smiling through her
tears. "Have no fear about that, my poor Margot. Come up to the house
and help, as my poor cousin is very weak and ill."

"My faith, dear miss, I will," cried the sturdy Breton woman.

In fact, Margot's hands were pretty full during the next month, for she
had two patients to tend--at the little chateau and in the cottage just
below.

"Ah! bah, madame," she said, looking up from her knitting. "What do I
do? Nothing. The beloved miss grows better and more beautiful day by
day, and is it I? Is it the good physician come from Saint Malo? Name
of a little cider apple! no. Look at the dear old monsieur there."

She pointed with a knitting needle to where Brettison sat, propped up in
a chair in the shadow