"Where's the key, Sandy?" cried he, impatiently, to an old cripple who assisted him in the common work of the dispensary.

The man came close and whispered something secretly in his ear.

"And carried the key away, do you say?" asked Layton, eagerly.

"Just so, sir. There was anither wi' him,--a stranger,--and he was mair angry than his rev'rance, and said, 'What can ye expec'? Is it like that a man o' his habits could be entrusted with such a charge as this?"

"And Dr. Millar--what did he reply?"

"Na much; he just shook his head this way, and muttered, 'I hoped for better,--I hoped for better!' I dinna think they 'd have taken away the key, but that old Jonas Graham kem up at the time, and said, 'It's mair than a month since we seen him'--yourself he meant--'down here, and them as has the strength for it would rather gae all the gait to Coleraine than tak their chance o' him.' For a' that," said Sandy, "I opened the dispensary door, and was sarvin' out salts and the like, when the stranger said, 'Is it to a cretur like that the people are to trust their health? Just turn the key in the door, Millar, and you'll certainly save some one from being poisoned this morning.' And so he did, and here we are." And poor Sandy turned a rueful look on the surrounders as he finished.

"I can't cure you as kings used to cure the evil, long ago, by royal touch, good people," said Layton, mockingly; "and your guardians, or governors, or whatever they call themselves, have shut me out of my own premises. I am a priest cut off from his temple."

"I 'm na come here to ask for charity," said a stout old fellow, who stood alongside of a shaggy mountain pony; "I 'm able to pay ye for a'

your docther's stuff, and your skill besides."

"Well spoken, and like a man of independence," said Layton. "Let us open the treaty with a gill of brandy, and you shall tell me your case while I am sipping it." And with these words he led the way into a public-house, followed by the farmer, leaving the crowd to disperse when and how they pleased.

Whatever the nature of those ailments now so confidentially imparted, they were long enough in narration not only to require one, or two, or three gills, but a full bottle of strong mountain whiskey, of which it is but fair to say the farmer took his share. Layton's powers as a talker were not long in exercise ere they gained their due influence over his companion. Of the very themes the countryman deemed his own, he found the doctor knew far more than himself; while by his knowledge of life and human nature generally, he surprised his listener, who actually could not tear himself away from one so full of anecdote and observation.

Partly warned by the lateness of the hour--for already the market was oyer and the streets deserted--and partly by the thick utterance of his companion, whose heavy, bloodshot eye and sullen look now evidenced how deeply he had exceeded, the farmer at last arose to go away.

"You 're not 'flitting.' as you call it hereabouts," said Layton, half stupidly, "you're not thinking of leaving me alone to my own company, are you?"

"I maun be thinkin' of home; it's more than twalve miles o' a mountain that's afore me. There's na anither but yoursel' had made me forget it a' this while," said the farmer, as he buttoned his coat and prepared for the road. "Just tell me now what's to pay for the bit o' writin' ye gav' me."

"You 've had a consultation, my friend,--not a visit, but a regular consultation. You've not been treated like the outer populace, and only heard the oracles from afar, but you have been suffered to sit down beside the augur, to question him, and to drink with him. Pay,--nothing to pay! I'll cure your boy, there's my word on't. These cases are specialities with me. Bell used to say, 'Ask Layton to look at that fellow in such a ward; he's the only one of us understands this sort of thing. Layton will tell us all about it.' And I 'm Layton! Ay, sir, this poor, shabby, ill-dressed fellow that you see before you is that same Herbert Layton; so much for brains and ability to work a man's way in life! Order another quart of Isla whiskey, man,--that's my fee; at least it shall be to-day. Tell them to send me pen, ink, and paper, and not disturb me; tell them, besides--no, nevermind, I'll tell them that!

And now, good-day, my honest fellow. _You_ 've been _my_ physician to-day as much as _I_ have been _yours_. You have cured a sick heart--cheated it, at least--out of one paroxysm, and so, a good journey, and safe home to you. Send me news of your boy, and good-bye."

And his head dropped as he spoke; his arms fell heavily at his sides; and he appeared to have sunk into a profound sleep. The stupor was but brief; the farmer was not well out of the village when Layton, calling for a basin of cold water, plunged his face and part of his head in it, baring his brawny throat, and bathing it with the refreshing liquid.

As he was thus employed, he caught sight of his face reflected in a much-cracked mirror over the fireplace, and stood gazing for a few seconds at his blotched and bloated countenance.

"A year or two left still, belike," muttered he. "Past insuring, but still seaworthy, or, at least"--and here his voice assumed an intense mockery in tone,--"at least, capable of more shipwreck!" The sight of the writing-materials on the table seemed to recall him to something he had half forgotten, and, after a pause of reflection, he arranged the paper before him and sat down to write.

With the ease of one to whom composition was familiar, he dashed off a somewhat long letter; but though he wrote with great rapidity, he recurred from time to time to the whiskey-bottle, drinking the strong spirits undiluted, and, to all seeming, unmoved by its potency. "There,"

cried he, as he finished, "I have scuttled my own ship; let's see what will come of it."

He called for the landlord to give him wax and a seal. Neither were to be had, and he was fain to put up with a wafer. The letter closed and addressed, he set out homewards; scarcely, however, beyond the outskirts of the village, than he turned away from the coast and took the road towards the Rectory. It was now the early evening, one of those brief seasons when the wind lulls and a sort of brief calm supervenes in the boisterous climate of northern Ireland. Along the narrow lane he trod, tall foxgloves and variegated ferns grew luxuriantly, imparting a half-shade to a scene usually desolate and bare; and Layton lingered along it as though its calm seclusion soothed him. At last he found himself at a low wall, over which a stile led to a little woodland path.

It was the Rectory; who could mistake its trim neatness, the order and elegance which pervaded all its arrangements? Taking this path, he walked leisurely onward, till he came to a small flower-garden, into which three windows opened, their sashes reaching to the ground. While yet uncertain whether to advance or retire, he heard Ogden's sharp voice from within the room. His tone was loud, and had the vibration of one speaking in anger. "Even on your own showing, Millar, another reason for getting rid of him. _You_ can't be ambitious, I take it, of newspaper notoriety, or a controversy in the public papers. Now, Layton is the very man to drag you into such a conflict. Ask for no explanations, inquire for no reasons, but dismiss him by an act of your board. Your colonel there is the chairman; he could n't refuse what you insist upon, and the thing will be done without your prominence in it."

Millar murmured a reply, but Layton turned away without listening to it, and made for the hall door. "Give this to your master," said he, handing the letter to the servant, and turned away.

The last flickerings of twilight guided him down the steep path of the cliff, and, wearied and tired, he reached home.

"What a wearisome day you must have had, Herbert!" said his wife, as she stooped for the hat and cane he had thrown beside him on sitting down.

"I must n't complain, Grace," said he, with a sad sort of smile. "It is the last of such fatigues."

"How, or what do you mean?" asked she, eagerly.

"I have given it up. I have resigned my charge of the dispensary. Don't ask any reasons, girl," broke he in, hastily, "for I scarcely know them myself. All I can tell you is, it is done."

"I have no doubt you were right, Herbert," began she. "I feel assured--"

"Do you? Then, by Heaven! you have a greater confidence in me than _I_ have in myself. I believe I was more than two parts drunk when I did it, but doubtless the thought will sober me when I awake to-morrow morning; till when, I do not mean to think of it."

"You have not eaten, I 'm sure."

"I cannot eat just yet, Grace; give me a cup of tea, and leave me. I shall be better alone for a while."

CHAPTER XI. A REMITTANCE

"A letter,--a long letter from Alfred," said Layton's wife, as she knocked at his door on the following morning. "It has been lying for four days at the office in Coleraine. Only think, Herbert, and I fretting and fretting over his silence."

"Is he well?" asked he, half gruffly.

"Quite well, and so happy; in the midst of kind friends, and enjoying himself, as he says he thought impossible when absent from his home. Pray read it, Herbert. It will do you infinite good to see how cheerfully he writes."

"No, no; it is enough that I know the boy is well. As to being happy, it is the affair of an hour, or a day, with the luckiest of us."

"There are so many kind messages to you, and so many anxious inquiries about the laboratory. But you must read them. And then there is a bank order he insists upon your having. Poor fellow! the first money he has ever earned--"

"How much is it, Grace?" asked he, eagerly.

"It is for twenty pounds, Herbert," said she, in a faltering accent, which, even weak as it was, vibrated with something like reproach.

"Never could it be more welcome," said he, carelessly. "It was thoughtful, too, of the boy; just as if he had known all that has happened here." And with this he opened the door, taking hurriedly from her hand the letter and the money-order. "No; not this. I do not want his letter," said he, handing it back to her, while he muttered over the lines of the bank check. "Why did he not say,--or order?" said he, half angrily. "This necessitates my going to Coleraine myself to receive it.

It seems that I was overrating his thoughtfulness, after all."

"Oh, Herbert!" said she, pressing both her hands over her heart, as though an acute pain shot through it.

"I meant what I have said," said he, roughly; "he might have bethought him what are twelve weary miles of road to one like me, as well as that my clothes are not such as suit appearance in the streets of a town. It was _not_ thoughtful of him, Grace."

"The poor dear boy's first few pounds; all that he could call his own--"

"I know that," broke he in, harshly; "and in what other way could they have afforded him a tithe of the pleasure? It was a wise selfishness suggested the act; that is all you can say of it."

"Oh, but let me read you how gracefully and delicately he has done it, Herbert; how mindful he was not to wound one sentiment--"

"'Pay to Herbert Layton, Esquire,'" read he, half aloud, and not heeding her speech. "He ought to have added 'M. D.'; it is as 'the doctor' they should know me down here. Well, it has come right opportunely, at all events. I believe I was the owner of some fifteen shillings in the world."

A deep, tremulous sigh was all her answer.

"Fifteen and ninepence," muttered he, as he counted over the pieces in his hand. "Great must be the self-reliance of the man who, with such a sum for all his worldly wealth, insults his patrons and resigns his office,--eh, Grace?"

There was in his tone a blended mockery and seriousness that he often used, and which, by the impossibility of answering, always distressed her greatly.