I'm so very much obliged for the book. I
hope you got my note?"

I made all proper acknowledgments and
modest disclaimers.

"I never read a book that I go with
so entirely as that of yours," he continued.
"I saw at once there is more in it than is
quite unfolded. Do you know Dr. Harley?"
he asked, rather abruptly.

In passing, the editor remarks that the
physician here named was one of the most
eminent who ever practised in England.

I did, having had letters to him, and
had experienced from him great courtesy
and considerable assistance during my visit
to England.

"I think that man one of the very
greatest fools I ever met in my life,"
said Mr. Jennings.

This was the first time I had ever heard
him say a sharp thing of anybody, and
such a term applied to so high a name a
little startled me.

"Really! and in what way?" I asked.

"In his profession," he answered.

I smiled.

"I mean this," he said: "he seems to
me, one half blind—I mean one half of all
he looks at is dark—preternaturally bright
and vivid all the rest; and the worst of it
is, it seems wilful. I can't get him—I
mean he won't — I've had some experience
of him as a physician, but I look on
him as, in that sense, no better than a
paralytic mind, an intellect half dead.
I'll tell you— I know I shall some time—
all about it," he said, with a little agitation.
"You stay some months longer in
England. If I should be out of town
during your stay for a little time, would
you allow me to trouble you with a
letter?"

"I should be only too happy," I assured
him.

"Very good of you. I am so utterly
dissatisfied with Harley."

"A little leaning to the materialistic
school," I said.

"A mere materialist," he corrected me;
"you can't think how that sort of thing
worries one who knows better. You won't
tell any one—any of my friends you know
—that I am hippish; now, for instance,
no one knows—not even Lady Mary—that
I have seen Dr. Harley, or any other doctor.
So pray don't mention it; and, if I should
have any threatening of an attack, you'll
kindly let me write, or, should I be in
town, have a little talk with you."

I was full of conjecture, and
unconsciously I found I had fixed my eyes
gravely on him, for he lowered his for a
moment, and he said:

"I see you think I might as well tell
you now, or else you are forming a
conjecture; but you may as well give it up.
If you were guessing all the rest of your
life, you will never hit on it."

He shook his head smiling, and over
that wintry sunshine a black cloud
suddenly came down, and he drew his breath
in, through his teeth, as men do in pain.

"Sorry, of course, to learn that you
apprehend occasion to consult any of us;
but, command me when and how you like,
and I need not assure you that your
confidence is sacred."

He then talked of quite other things,
and in a comparatively cheerful way; and,
after a little time, I took my leave.

CHAPTER V. DOCTOR HESSELIUS IS SUMMONED
TO RICHMOND.

WE parted cheerfully, but he was not
cheerful, nor was I. There are certain
expressions of that powerful organ of spirit
—the human face—which, although I have
seen them often, and possess a doctor's
nerve, yet disturb me profoundly. One
look of Mr. Jennings haunted me. It had
seized my imagination with so dismal a
power that I changed my plans for the
evening, and went to the opera, feeling
that I wanted a change of ideas.

I heard nothing of or from him for two
or three days, when a note in his hand
reached me. It was cheerful, and full of
hope. He said that he had been for some
little time so much better—quite well, in
fact—that he was going to make a little
experiment, and run down for a month or
so to his parish, to try whether a little
work might not quite set him up. There
was in it a fervent religious expression of
gratitude for his restoration, as he now
almost hoped he might call it.

A day or two later I saw Lady Mary,
who repeated what his note had announced,
and told me that he was actually in
Warwickshire, having resumed his clerical
duties at Kenlis; and she added, "I begin
to think that he is really perfectly well,
and that there never was anything the
matter, more than nerves and fancy; we
are all nervous, but I fancy there is
nothing like a little hard work for that kind
of weakness, and he has made up his mind
to try it. I should not be surprised if he
did not come back for a year."

Notwithstanding all this confidence, only