e good doctor, who was intent upon rousing her by any
means, said: "No, my dear lady, I promised that I would see you read the
note; besides, I am the most curious of men, and dying to know a little
more who and what is the writer."

Caroline broke the seal and read as follows: "If Lady Montfort remembers
Arabella Fossett, and will call at Clare Cottage, Vale of Health,
Hampstead, at her ladyship's earliest leisure, and ask for Mrs. Crane,
some information, not perhaps important to Lady Montfort, but very
important to Mr. Darrell, will be given."

Lady Montfort startled the doctor by the alertness with which she sprang
to her feet and rang the bell.

"What is it?" asked he.

"The carriage immediately," cried Lady Montfort as the servant entered.

"Ah! you are going to see the poor lady, Mrs. Crane, eh? Well, it is a
charming drive, and just what I should have recommended. Any exertion
will do you good. Allow me; why, your pulse is already fifty per cent.
better. Pray what relation is Mrs. Crane to my patient?"

"I really don't know; pray excuse me, my dear Dr. F-------."

"Certainly; go while the day is fine. Wrap up;--a close carriage,
mind;--and I will look in to-morrow."

CHAPTER X.

WHEREIN IS INSINUATED THE HIGHEST COMPLIMENT TO WOMAN EVER PAID TO
HER SEX BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS WORK.

Lady Montfort has arrived at Clare Cottage. She is shown by Bridget
Greggs into a small room upon the first floor; folding-doors to some
other room closely shut--evidences of sickness in the house;--phials on
the chimneypiece--a tray with a broth-basin on the table--a saucepan on
the hob--the sofa one of those that serve as a bed, which Sleep little
visits, for one who may watch through the night over some helpless
sufferer--a woman's shawl thrown carelessly over its hard narrow
bolster;--all, in short, betraying that pathetic untidiness and
discomfort which says that a despot is in the house to whose will order
and form are subordinate;--the imperious Tyranny of Disease establishing
itself in a life that, within those four walls, has a value not to be
measured by its worth to the world beyond. The more feeble and helpless
the sufferer, the more sovereign the despotism--the more submissive the
servitude.

In a minute or two one of the folding-doors silently opened and as
silently closed, admitting into Lady Montfort's presence a grim woman in
iron grey.

Caroline could not, at the first glance, recognise that