Dr Tiddson at last, panting and out of breath; for he had run the greater part of two miles, and upon hearing the few words Mrs Brandon had to utter, he cast aside all the pedantry of his profession to which he clung, and knelt down by the inanimate form.

“Every symptom of having passed through a state of fever,” he said softly. “Slightly convulsed, even now,” he muttered, as from the pulse his finger went to her face. “The candle a little nearer,” he said, as he raised an eyelid. “Yes, I thought so! Lungs seem right. I’d stake my life she has but lately risen from a sick bed. Heaven bless the poor child, she’s worn to a skeleton! Here, quick, Edward!”

“I’m here, sir,” growled the hard footman.

“Take that to my house,” he said, hurriedly writing some directions. “Run, my good man, please.”

“I will, sir,” said Edward huskily, as a great tear ran trickling down his nose; “but please tell me, sir—we all liked her very much—you—you don’t think she’ll die?”

“We’ll hope not, Edward—we’ll hope not,” said the doctor solemnly. “Now go.”

Edward gave a great coarse sigh as he ran out of the room; but it was genuine sympathy, and worth a host of fine words.

“There’s something more than ordinary disease here, Mrs Brandon,” said the doctor. “We’ll watch by her to-night; and if there is no change by morning, I should like to share the responsibility, and have the counsel of some able practitioner.”

They passed that night and many more b............