cautious Scot, opened the door hastily, and
closed it sharply.

"My God, sir," he says, "here's a
business! Mr. Cecil's taken ill!"

"Ill!" cried the Doctor, literally jumping
into the air, "what d'ye mean? By the
powers——"

"Oh, stop," said the man, coolly, "it'll
do you no good. I knew it would come
to this, for he's been at it these three nights
back."

"Not a word—not a word, for your life,"
said the Doctor, in real agitation; "you
said nothing to those women—maids, and
the rest? No, I'm sure you didn't! See,
my dear man, here's some soverens for you
—all I have now—look, go back quietly
—whistling, if you. can—speak to that
infernal maid of ours, who'll be prying, and
poking, and wondering what brought you.
I'll follow after a decent second or two."

The man did as he was desired, and the
Doctor, imprecating terribly on the whole
family, and on "that vile woman," more
of whose work this was, got his little
"case" and some medicines into his pocket,
and walked out whistling, with his hands
under his coat-tails.

It was just what he had imagined. There,
on the bed, was stretched the young man,
exactly as he had been seized the first day
he had seen him, his face stiff, stretched,
and ghastly, froth on his mouth, his hands
rigid. The servant bent over him and
loosened his neckcloth. Instantly the Doctor
came up to him, and, with an amazing
promptitude, set to work.

"I'll bring him round, never fear," he
said. "Leave him to me. Get me
mustard, and brandy, and every fiery thing
that's in the house. Now, above all, not
a word for your bare life. I know the
mountains they'll be making of it, and it's
only a trifle after all. I'll pull him round."
But when the Doctor was left alone, it was
amazing with what vehemence, what frantic
ardour, he went about his "phlugistic treatment."
"Oh, powers of Moses, that it
should have come to this! Oh, save us
and deliver us! Was there ever anything
to equal this?" How was it to end—what
was to come of it? And here were the
moments "slipping away as if they had
been greased."

Meanwhile the process of decking Katey
was going on, and nearly completed now.
For her the minutes went by too speedily.
At last she was ready: there was a deal of
embracing over that completion, and never
did Katey look so lovely. The cry now
was, where was Peter to attend her to the
b'rouche, whose "head" was to be put up
to carry them to church. Already scouts
had reported that Lord Shipton had passed
by in his peculiar vehicle, and wearing a
new pair of yellow thread gloves.

In this flurry a letter was brought in
directed to Katey, and the Mary or Jane
who carried it said, with great elation, it
was one of the people from the fort who
had brought it over.

"Why, it's Mrs. Leader!" was the
delighted cry. "Ah, Katey, love, she's given
way, and it's to congratulate, and she's
coming to the wedding!"

It was torn open and read. But it was
not to the anticipated effect. It ran:

I wish to give you one last warning, and
beg of you to pause before you take an
irrevocable step. I tell you you shall never
force your way into our family. You may
marry Mr. Leader's son, but you shall
marry a pauper. Depend upon it, I will
find means to punish and to crush you for
daring to interfere with our plans. As you
choose to degrade our family by forcing
your low connexions on us, remember I
warn you that there shall be no mock
repentance or "making up" after awhile.
You shall pay bitterly for what you have
done—taking in, with the low arts of your
family, a poor, weak, helpless victim——

Katey turned pale as she read, and
crushed the letter in her fingers. Then the
colour came back to her cheeks, the light
to her eye.

"I do not deserve this," she said, proudly.
"She is a cruel, wicked woman. Perhaps
she may not crush me yet. Polly, not a
word, dearest, to Peter. For your life,
darling, no. It will only put him out."

But where was Peter? Ah, it was too
bad of Peter to be keeping them in this
way, says the vivacious Polly. But here
was Peter hurrying up with an exhausted,
worried, and a scared look.

"Here," he said, "time's up. Make as
much haste as you can, and be off to the
church. I'll follow you."

"Ah, Peter, what nonsense! Don't you
know you're to take Katey?"

"Not a foot. And don't you bother me,
now, if you don't want to drive me mad
among you. No disputing, but be off."

There was a tone about this which
"abolished argument," as he would have
said. An admiring crowd was at the door,