THE WOMAN IN WHITE.
THE HOUSEKEEPER'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED.

TO resume. The night passed as usual, without
producing any change for the better in Miss
Halcombe. The next day, she seemed to
improve a little. The day after that, her ladyship
the Countess, without mentioning the object of
her journey to any one in my hearing, proceeded
by the morning train to London; her noble
husband, with his customary attention,
accompanying her to the station.

I was now left in sole charge of Miss
Halcombe, with every apparent chance, in
consequence of her sister's resolution not to leave the
bedside, of having Lady Glyde herself to nurse
next.

The only circumstance of any importance that
happened in the course of the day, was the
occurrence of another unpleasant meeting between
the doctor and the Count.

His lordship, on returning from the station,
stepped up into Miss Halcombe's sitting-room
to make his inquiries. I went out from the
bedroom to speak to him; Mr. Dawson and
Lady Glyde being both with the patient at the
time. The Count asked me many questions
about the treatment and the symptoms. I
informed him that the treatment was of the kind
described as "saline;" and that the symptoms,
between the attacks of fever, were certainly
those of increasing weakness and exhaustion.
Just as I was mentioning these last particulars,
Mr. Dawson came out from the bedroom.

"Good morning, sir," said his lordship, stepping
forward in the most urbane manner, and
stopping the doctor, with a high-bred resolution
impossible to resist, "I greatly fear you find no
improvement in the symptoms to-day?"

"I find decided improvement," answered Mr.
Dawson.

"You still persist in your lowering treatment
of this case of fever?" continued his lordship.

"I persist in the treatment which is justified
by my own professional experience," said Mr.
Dawson.

"Permit me to put one question to you on
the vast subject of professional experience,"
observed the Count. "I presume to offer
no more advice—I only presume to make an
inquiry. You live at some distance, sir, from
the gigantic centres of scientific activity—
London and Paris. Have you ever heard of the
wasting effects of fever being reasonably and
intelligibly repaired by fortifying the exhausted
patient with brandy, wine, ammonia, and quinine.
Has that new heresy of the highest medical
authorities ever reached your ears—Yes, or
No?"

"When a professional man puts that question
to me, I shall be glad to answer him," said the
doctor, opening the door to go out. "You are
not a professional man; and I beg to decline
answering you."

Buffeted in this inexcusably uncivil way, on
one cheek, the Count, like a practical Christian,
immediately turned the other, and said, in the
sweetest manner, "Good morning, Mr. Dawson.''

If my late beloved husband had been so
fortunate as to know his lordship, how highly he
and the Count would have esteemed each other!

Her ladyship the Countess returned by the
last train that night, and brought with her the
nurse from London. I was instructed that this
person's name was Mrs. Rubelle. Her personal
appearance, and her imperfect English, when
she spoke, informed me that she was a foreigner.

I have always cultivated a feeling of humane
indulgence for foreigners. They do not possess
our blessings and advantages; and they are, for
the most part, brought up in the blind errors of
popery. It has also always been my precept and
practice, as it was my dear husband's precept
and practice before me (see Sermon XXIX, in
the Collection by the late Rev. Samuel Michelson,
M.A.), to do as I would be done by. On
both these accounts, I will not say that Mrs.
Rubelle struck me as being a small, wiry, sly
person, of fifty or thereabouts, with a dark
brown, or Creole complexion, and watchful light
grey eyes. Nor will I mention, for the reasons
just alleged, that I thought her dress, though it
was of the plainest black silk, inappropriately
costly in texture and unnecessarily refined in
trimming and finish, for a person in her position
in life. I should not like these things to be
said of me, and therefore it is my duty not to
say them of Mrs.Rubelle. I will merely
mention that her manners were—not perhaps
unpleasantly reserved—but only remarkably quiet
and retiring; that she looked about her a great
deal, and said very little, which might have
arisen quite as much from her own modesty, as