"What, I?--thinking of her? My dear sir, no!"

"Thank you, doctor. First time I'm ill, I'll come to you. That's a load off my mind!"

"But really, Mr Saxby, you should have asked Mr Prayle that question."

"Eh? What? You don't think so, do you?"

"I should be sorry to pa.s.s any judgment upon the matter, Mr Saxby,"

said the doctor quietly; "and now we part. Good-day."

"Prayle, eh?" said Saxby. "Well, I never thought of him, and--Ah, she's about the nicest, simplest, and sweetest girl I ever saw! But, Prayle!"

People wondered why the smartly dressed City man stopped short and removed his glossy hat to rub one ear.

Volume 1, Chapter XV.

A WIFE'S APPEAL.

Two months of the life of John Scales pa.s.sed away, during which he had three opportunities of gaining good additions to his practice, but in each case he set himself so thoroughly in apposition to the medical men with whom he was to be a.s.sociated, that they one and all combined against him; and the heterodox professor of strange ideas of his own had the satisfaction of learning that his services would be dispensed with.

"It doesn't matter," he said to himself. "I'm a deal happier as I am.

Strange I haven't heard from James Scarlett, by the way. I'll give him a look in at his chambers. That Rosery is a paradise of a place! I wonder how the Diana is that I met--Lady Martlett. If I were an artist, I should go mad to paint her. As I'm a doctor," he added reflectively, "I should like her as a patient."

"I shall be ready to believe in being influenced, if this sort of thing goes on," said the doctor, a couple of hours later, as he read a letter from Lady Scarlett, giving him a long and painful account of his friend's state of health.

"Had four different doctors down," read Scales. "Hum--ha, of course-- would have asked me to come too, but they refused to meet me. Ha! I'm getting a nice character, somehow. Say they can do no more. Humph!

Wonder at that. Growing moral, I suppose. Might have made a twelvemonth's job of it. Humph! Cousin, Mr Arthur Prayle, been so kind. Given up everything to attend to dear James's affairs. I shouldn't like him to have anything to do with mine. Will I come down at once? James wishes it. Well, I suppose I must, poor old chap.

They've been dosing him to death. Poor old boy! the shock of that drowning could hardly have kept up till now." The upshot of it was that the doctor ran down that afternoon.

Next morning, on entering the study, he found Lady Scarlett and Prayle seated at the table, the latter leaning towards his cousin's wife, and apparently pointing to something, in a small clasped book, with the very sharply pointed pencil that he held in his hand.

Prayle started, and shifted his position quickly. Lady Scarlett did not move, beyond looking up at the doctor anxiously, as his stern face was turned towards her.

"I beg your pardon," he said; "I did not know that you were engaged."

"Mr Prayle was explaining some business matters to me," said Lady Scarlett. "Don't go away. You said you should like to talk to me this morning."

"Yes," replied the doctor coldly; "but the business will keep."

"Oh no; I beg you will not go," said Lady Scarlett anxiously.

"Perhaps I shall be _de trop_," said Prayle smoothly, and his voice and looks forbade the idea that they were in the slightest degree malicious.

"Well, as my remarks are for Lady Scarlett alone, Mr Prayle, perhaps you would kindly give me half an hour."

"Certainly," cried Prayle, with a great a.s.sumption of frankness.--"Lady Scarlett will tell me, perhaps, when she would like to go on with these accounts?"

"Oh, at any time, Arthur," said Lady Scarlett anxiously. "Pray, do not think I am slighting them: but this seems of so much more importance now."

"When and where you please," said Prayle softly. "Don't study me. I have only my cousin's interest at heart." He rose, smiling, and left the room; but the smile pa.s.sed off Prayle's countenance as the door closed; and he went out angry-looking and biting his lip, to walk up and down the garden, turning from time to time to the book he held in his hand.

The doctor was very quiet and grave, as he took the chair pointed to by Lady Scarlett; and as he gazed at her rather fixedly, his face seemed to harden.

"I am very glad you have come," she said. "James seems to be more restful and confident now you are here. He always thought so much of you."

"We were such old companions: perhaps that is it."

"Well, you have seen him again this morning. You said I was to give you time. Now, tell me what you think. You find him better?"

"I must be frank with you, Lady Scarlett," said the doctor. "No; I do not."

"And I was so hopeful!" said the poor woman piteously.

"It would be folly for me not to speak plainly--I think cruelty. I find him worse."

Lady Scarlett let her head go down upon her hands, covering her face, and the doctor thought that she was weeping; but at the end of a minute she raised her head again, and looked at her visitor, dry-eyed and pale.

"Go on," she said in a voice full of suppressed pain.

"I cannot, help telling you plainly what I think."

"No; of course not. Pray, hide nothing from me."

"Well, it seems to me," he continued, "that in bringing him back as it were to life, I left part of my work undone."

"O no!" cried Lady Scarlett.

"Yes: I brought back his body to life and activity, but I seem to have left behind much of his brain. That seems half dead. He is no longer the man he was."

"No," sighed Lady Scarlett. "What you say is true; but surely," she cried, "you can cure him now."

The doctor remained silent and thoughtful for a few minutes. "I think when I was down here--at the time of the accident--I told you at the table about a patient I was attending--a gentleman suffering from a peculiar nervous ailment."

"O yes, yes!" cried Lady Scarlett. "I remember. It seems to be burned into my brain, and I've lain awake night after night, thinking it was almost prophetic."

"I've thought so too," said the doctor drily, "though I never fancied that I was going to join the prophets."

"But you cured your patient?" cried Lady Scarlett anxiously.

"No; I am sorry to say that my efforts, have been vain. It is one of my failures; and I think it would be a pity for me to take up poor Scarlett's case."

"But he wishes it--I wish it."

"You have quite ceased going to Sir Morton Laurent?"

"O yes. He did my husband no good; and the excitement of going up to town--the train--the carriage--and the cab--and then seeing the doctor, always upset him dreadfully. I am sure the visits did him a great deal of harm."

"Perhaps so, in his nervous state. Maybe, under the circ.u.mstances, you were wise to give them up."