rtably established in a
splendid old room, completely clothed with books from ceiling to floor.

"These are my treasures," said the baronet, waving his hand in the
direction of an old bookcase, which contained, I saw at a glance, some
very rare and precious first editions.

"These are my friends, the companions of my hours of solitude. Now sit
down, Dr. Halifax; make yourself at home. You have come here as a guest,
but I have heard of you before, and am inclined to confide in you. I
must frankly say that I hate your profession as a rule. I don't believe
in the omniscience of medical men, but moments come in the lives of all
men when it is necessary to unburden the mind to another. May I give you
my confidence?"

"One moment first," I said. "I can't deceive you, Sir Henry. I have come
here, not in the capacity of a guest, but as your wife's medical man.
She has been anxious about you, and she begged of me to come and stay
here for a few days in order to render you any medical assistance within
my power. I only knew, on my way here to-day, that she had not
acquainted you with the nature of my visit."

While I was speaking, Sir Henry's face became extremely watchful,
eager, and tense.

"This is remarkable," he said. "So Lucilla is anxious about me? I was
not aware that I ever gave her the least clue to the fact that I am
not--in perfect health. This is very strange--it troubles me."

He looked agitated. He placed one long, thin hand on the little table
which stood near, and pouring out a glass of wine, drank it off. I
noticed as he did so the nervous trembling of his hand. I glanced at his
face, and saw that it was thin to emaciation.

"Well," he said, "I am obliged to you for being perfectly frank with me.
My wife scarcely did well to conceal the object of your visit. But now
that you have come, I shall make use of you both for myself and
for her."

"Then you are not well?" I asked.

"Well!" he answered, with almost a shout. "Good God, no! I think that I
am going mad. I know--I know that unless relief soon comes I shall die
or become a raving maniac."

"No, nothing of the kind," I answered, soothingly; "you probably want
change. This is a fine old house, but dull, no doubt, in winter. Why
don't you go away?--to the Riviera, or some other place where there is
plenty of sunshine? Why do you stay here? The air of this place is too
damp to be good for either you or your wife."

Sir Henry sat silent for a moment,