sport of the
thing; you took to it as a schoolboy. I have known many such men, with
high animal spirits like yours. Such men err thoughtlessly; but did
they ever sin consciously, they could not keep those high spirits! Good
night, Mr. Chapman, I shall hear from you again."

The door closed on the form of the visitor; Waife's head sank on his
breast, and all the deep lines upon brow and cheek stood forth, records
of mighty griefs revived,--a countenance so altered, now its innocent
arch play was gone, that you would not have known it. At length he rose
very quietly, took up the candle, and stole into Sophy's room. Shading
the light with careful hand, he looked on her face as she slept.
The smile was still upon the parted lip: the child was still in the
fairyland of dreams. But the cheek was thinner than it had been weeks
ago, and the little hand that rested on the coverlet seemed wasted.
Waife took that hand noiselessly into his own! it was hot and dry. He
dropped it with a look of unutterable fear and anguish, and, shaking his
head piteously; stole back again. Seating himself by the table at which
he had been caught counting his gains, he folded his arms, and rooted
his gaze on the floor; and there, motionless, and as if in stupefied
suspense of thought itself, he sat till the dawn crept over the
sky,--till the sun shone into the windows. The dog, crouched at his
feet, sometimes started up and whined as to attract his notice: he
did not heed it. The clock struck six; the house began to stir. The
chambermaid came into the room. Waife rose and took his hat, brushing
its nap mechanically with his sleeve. "Who did you say was the best
here?" he asked with a vacant smile, touching the chambermaid's arm.

"Sir! the best--what?"

"The best doctor, ma'am; none of your parish apothecaries,--the best
physician,--Dr. Gill,--did you say Gill? Thank you; his address, High
Street. Close by, ma'am." With his grand bow,--such is habit!--Gentleman
Waife smiled graciously, and left the room. Sir Isaac stretched himself
and followed.

CHAPTER XVI.

In every civilized society there is found a race of men who retain
the instincts of the aboriginal cannibal, and live upon their
fellow-men as a natural food. These interesting but formidable
bipeds, having caught their victim, invariably select one part of
his body on which to fasten their relentless grinders. The part
thus selected is peculiarly susceptible, Prov