"Douglas, I beg and entreat you to see a physician directly. I entreat it as a favour to me."

"My dear Paulina, I am ready to do anything you wish."

"You will promise me, then, to see a doctor you can trust, without an hour's unnecessary delay?"

"I promise, with all my heart," replied Douglas. "Ah, Paulina, what happiness to think that my life is of some slight value to her I love so fondly!"

No more was said upon the subject; but during dinner, and throughout the evening, Paulina's eyes fixed themselves every now and then with an anxious, scrutinizing gaze upon her lover's face.

When he had left her, she mentioned her fears to her _confidante_ and shadow, Miss Brewer.

"Do you not see a change in Mr. Dale?" she asked.

"A change! What kind of change?"

"Do you not perceive an alteration in his appearance? In plainer words, do you not think him looking very ill?"

Miss Brewer, generally so impassive, started, and looked at her patroness with a gaze in which alarm was plainly visible.

She had hazarded so much in order to bring about a marriage between Douglas and her patroness; and what if mortality's dread enemy, Death, should forbid the banns?

"Ill!" she exclaimed; "do you think Mr. Dale is ill?"

"I do, indeed; and he confesses as much himself, though he makes light of the matter. He talks of low fever. I cannot tell you how much he has alarmed me."

"There may be nothing serious in it," answered Miss Brewer, with some hesitation. "One is so apt to take alarm about trifles which a doctor would laugh at. I dare say Mr. Dale only requires change of air. A London life is not calculated to improve any one's health."

"Perhaps that is the cause of his altered appearance," replied Paulina, only too glad to be reassured as to her lover's safety. "I will beg him to take change of air. But he has promised to see a doctor to-morrow: when he comes to me in the afternoon I shall hear what the doctor has said."

Douglas Dale was very much inclined to make light of the slight symptoms of ill-health which had oppressed him for some time--a languor, a sense of thirst and fever, which were very wearing in their effect, but which he attributed to the alternations of excitement and agitation that he had undergone of late.

He was, however, too much a man of honour to break the promise made to Paulina.

He went early on the following morning to Savile Row, where he called upon Dr. Harley Westbrook, a physician of some eminence, to whom he carefully described the symptoms of which he had complained to Paulina.

"I do not consider myself really ill," he said, in conclusion; "but I have come to you in obedience to the wish of a friend."

"I am very glad that you have come to me," answered Dr. Westbrook, gravely.

"Indeed! do you, then, consider the symptoms alarming?"

"Well, no, not at present; but I may go so far as to say that you have done very wisely in placing yourself under medical treatment. It is a most interesting case," added the doctor with an air of satisfaction that was almost enjoyment.

He then asked his patient a great many questions, some of which Douglas Dale considered frivolous, or, indeed, absurd; questions about his diet, his habits: questions even about the people with whom he associated, the servants who waited upon him.

These latter inquiries might have seemed almost impertinent, if Dr.

Westbrook's elevated position had not precluded such an idea.

"You dine at your club, or in your chambers, eh, Mr. Dale?" he asked.

"Neither at my club, nor my chambers; I dine every day with a friend."

"Indeed; always with the same friend?"

"Always the same."

"And you breakfast?"

"At my chambers."

Here followed several questions as to the nature of the breakfast.

"These sort of ailments depend so much on diet," said the physician, as if to justify the closeness of his questioning. "Your servant prepares your breakfast, of course--is he a person whom you can trust?"

"Yes; he is an old servant of my father's. I could trust him implicitly in far more important matters than the preparation of my breakfast."

"Indeed! Will you pardon me if I ask rather a strange question?"

"Certainly, if it is a necessary one."

"Answered like a lawyer, Mr. Dale," replied Dr. Westbrook, with a smile. "I want to know whether this old and trusted servant of yours has any beneficial interest in your death?"

"Interest in my death--"

"In plainer words, has he reason to think that you have put him down in your will--supposing that you have made a will; which is far from probable?"

"Well, yes," replied Douglas, thoughtfully; "I have made a will within the last few months, and Jarvis, my old servant knows that he is provided for, in the event of surviving me--not a very likely event, according to the ordinary hazards; but a man is bound to prepare for every contingency."

"You told your servant that you had provided for him?"

"I did. He has been such an excellent creature, that it was only natural I should leave him comfortably situated in the event of my death."

"No; to be sure," answered the physician, with rather an absent manner.

"And now I need trouble you with no further questions this morning.

Come to me in a few days, and in the meantime take the medicine I prescribe for you."

Dr. Westbrook wrote a prescription, and Mr. Dale departed, very much perplexed by his interview with the celebrated physician.

Douglas went to Fulham that evening as usual, and the first question Paulina asked related to his interview with the doctor.

"You have seen a medical man?" she asked.

"I have; and you may set your mind at rest, dearest. He assures me that there is nothing serious the matter."

Paulina was entirely reassured, and throughout that evening she was brighter and happier than usual in the society of her lover--more lovely, more bewitching than ever, as it seemed to Douglas.

He waited a week before calling again on the physician; and he might, perhaps, have delayed his visit even longer, had he not felt that the fever and languor from which he suffered increased rather than abated.