ed one true-hearted, honest friend in
his life.

"It was not without great difficulty that I got him back to my lodgings,
for we had gone to dine at Richmond. Then we put him to bed, and I sent
for Hunter, who came on the instant. Though by this time Glencore was
much more calm and composed, Hunter called the case brain fever; had his
hair cut quite close, and ice applied to the head. Without any knowledge
of his history or even of his name, Hunter pronounced him to be a man
whose intellect had received some terrible shock, and that the present
was simply an acute attack of a long-existent malady."

"Did he use any irritants?" asked Upton, anxiously.

"No; he advised nothing but the cold during the night."

"Ah! what a mistake," sighed Upton, heavily. "It was precisely the case
for the cervical lotion I was speaking of. Of course he was much worse
next morning?"

"That he was; not as regarded his reason, however, for he could talk
collectedly enough, but he was irritable and passionate to a degree
scarcely credible: would not endure the slightest opposition, and so
suspectful of everything and everybody that if he overheard a whisper it
threw him into a convulsion of anger. Hunter's opinion was evidently
a gloomy one, and he said to me as we went downstairs, 'He may come
through it with life, but scarcely with a sound intellect.' This was a
heavy blow to _me_, for I could not entirely acquit myself of the fault
of having counselled this visit to Brighton, which I now perceived had
made such a deep impression upon him. I roused myself, however, to meet
the emergency, and walked down to St. James's to obtain some means of
letting the King know that Glencore was too ill to keep his appointment.
Fortunately, I met Knighton, who was just setting off to Brighton, and
who promised to take charge of the commission. I then strolled over
to Brookes's to see the morning papers, and lounged till about four
o'clock, when I turned homeward.

"Gloomy and sad I was as I reached my door, and rang the bell with a
cautious hand. They did not hear the summons, and I was forced to
ring again, when the door was opened by my servant, who stood pale and
trembling before me. 'He's gone, sir,--he's gone,' cried he, almost
sobbing.

"'Good Heaven!' cried I. 'Dead?'

"'No, sir, gone away,--driven off, no one knows where. I had just gone
out to the chemist's, and was obliged to call round at Doctor Hunter's
about a word in the prescriptio