rove to Mrs. Amherst that it's not
misplaced."

The words were well chosen, and well spoken; Justine saw that they
produced a good effect. Amherst grasped the physician's hand with a
smile. "My dear fellow, I wish I could do more. Be sure to call on me
again if you want help."

"Oh, you've put me on my feet," said Wyant gratefully.

He bowed slightly to Justine and turned to go; but as he reached the
threshold she moved after him.

"Dr. Wyant--you must give back that letter."

He stopped short with a whitening face.

She felt Amherst's eyes on her again; and she said desperately,
addressing him: "Dr. Wyant understands my reasons."

Her husband's glance turned abruptly to Wyant. "Do you?" he asked after
a pause.

Wyant looked from one to the other. The moisture came out on his
forehead, and he passed his hand over it again. "Yes," he said in a dry
voice. "Mrs. Amherst wants me farther off--out of New York."

"Out of New York? What do you mean?"

Justine interposed hastily, before the answer could come. "It is because
Dr. Wyant is not in condition--for such a place--just at present."

"But he assures me he is quite well."

There was another silence; and again Wyant broke in, this time with a
slight laugh. "I can explain what Mrs. Amherst means; she intends to
accuse me of the morphine habit. And I can explain her reason for doing
so--she wants me out of the way."

Amherst turned on the speaker; and, as she had foreseen, his look was
terrible. "You haven't explained that yet," he said.

"Well--I can." Wyant waited another moment. "I know too much about her,"
he declared.

There was a low exclamation from Justine, and Amherst strode toward
Wyant. "You infernal blackguard!" he cried.

"Oh, gently----" Wyant muttered, flinching back from his outstretched
arm.

"My wife's wish is sufficient. Give me back that letter."

Wyant straightened himself. "No, by God, I won't!" he retorted
furiously. "I didn't ask you for it till you offered to help me; but I
won't let it be taken back without a word, like a thief that you'd
caught with your umbrella. If your wife won't explain I will. She's,
afraid I'll talk about what happened at Lynbrook."

Amherst's arm fell to his side. "At Lynbrook?"

Behind him there was a sound of inarticulate appeal--but he took no
notice.

"Yes. It's she who used morphia--but not on herself. She gives it to
other people. She gave an overdose to Mrs. Amherst."

Amherst looked at h