ried the honest soul, who never
disguised the fact that Mr. Halifax was her favourite of all her
lodgers, save and except Miss March.

"Thank you for considering my health," he replied, smiling. "Only tell
me, Mrs. Tod, can anything be done--can we do anything for that poor
gentleman?"

"Nothing, sir--thank'ee all the same."

"If he should grow worse let me go for Doctor Brown. I shall be at
home all day."

"I'll tell Miss March of your kindness, sir," said Mrs. Tod, as with a
troubled countenance she disappeared.

"Were you not going to Norton Bury to-day, John?"

"I was--but--as it is a matter of no moment, I have changed my mind.
You have been left so much alone lately. Nay--I'll not disguise the
truth; I had another reason."

"May I know it?"

"Of course you may. It is about our fellow-lodgers. Doctor Brown--I
met him on the road this morning--told me that her father cannot live
more than a few days--perhaps a few hours. And she does not know it."

He leaned on the mantelpiece. I could see he was very much affected.

So was I.

"Her relatives--surely they ought to be sent for?"

"She has none. Doctor Brown said she once told him so: none nearer
than the Brithwoods of the Mythe--and we know what the Brithwoods are."

A young gentleman and his young wife--proverbially the gayest,
proudest, most light-hearted of all our country families.

"Nay, Phineas, I will not have you trouble yourself. And after all,
they are mere strangers--mere strangers. Come, sit down to breakfast."

But he could not eat. He could not talk of ordinary things. Every
minute he fell into abstractions. At length he said, suddenly:

"Phineas, I do think it is wicked, downright wicked, for a doctor to be
afraid of telling a patient he is going to die--more wicked, perhaps,
to keep the friends in ignorance until the last stunning blow falls.
She ought to be told: she must be told: she may have many things to
say to her poor father. And God help her! for such a stroke she ought
to be a little prepared. It might kill her else!"

He rose up and walked about the room. The seal once taken from his
reserve, he expressed himself to me freely, as he had used to
do--perhaps because at this time his feelings required no disguise.
The dreams which might have peopled that beautiful sunset wood
necessarily faded in an atmosphere like this--filled with the solemn
gloom of impending death.

At last he paused in his hurried