sat on, when Katey and Mary Leader went
up together to their room, leaving the
Doctor and his guest with "what was as
good as a third party," the copper kettle,
now grown so clamorous that he had to be
taken off his hob and placed beside the
gentlemen. Then the Doctor compounded
one of the most exquisite and enticing
drinks that had ever been set before Mr.
Leader in his whole life, transcending by
far any of the costly champagnes or clarets
that had so often furnished forth the Leader
banquets, and bending over the tumbler,
leaning on his elbows, the Doctor became
deeply confidential—eloquent almost—as
he unfolded the history, the sufferings of
his child, his own sorrows and agonies, all
expounded in a gushing, friendly fashion.
He worked all the favourite topics: "his
only son"—"a son by the woman that was
dead and gone." It was heart-breaking to
see the state he was reduced to, and "the
cruel sacrifice that poor sweet Katey" had
gone through. If ever there was a nurse
or a sister of charity, devoting herself to
a sick-bed, there she is up-stairs. Poor
child! 'It was a cruel turn for her, "her
young life" sacrificed; turned into a mere
nurse!

"You know, my dear sir, and it's no use
concealing the truth from you, my poor
lad up-stairs is in a bad way. I don't know
this moment how it will end, or when he'll
break out again."

"Why," asked Mr. Leader, nervously,
"was it that again?"

The Doctor raised his hand pantomimically
to his lips, and shook his head
solemnly.

"Ah! it's a poor look-out. Once that
kind of thing enters into a man, it's like a
devil in permanent occupation, tearing to
get out and be satisfied. Think of him,
too, when he comes eventually to his property—
I hope it'll be a long time off, but
he must in the course of nature how
will it be then?"

The Doctor here fixed his eyes earnestly
on Mr. Leader, who moved very restlessly
and uneasily in his chair.

"Surely now," went on the Doctor, still
more earnestly, "it's a cruel state of things
for her and for me to have to put up with,
after all that we have done for the family
—forgive me for coming to this point,
but it's quite necessary—the snubbing,
calumnies about my family, outrages, insults
and all for what? To have the
custody of, and attendance on, a permanent
invalid! God give you health, and may
you keep it long, Mr. Leader; and I would
give you thirty or forty years to run, if I was
an assurance office. So that, take it all in
all, it's but a poor prospect for us all before
th' inheritance drops in."

Again Mr. Leader got nervous. "You
see," he said, "the fact, the truth is, we
have resolved on, what is most painful to
me, but really it has been forced on us;
but when one is head of the family, and
one's son chooses to fly in your face——"

"Oh, I don't believe it," said the Doctor.
"You don't tell me, my dear sir, that
Mrs. Leader has carried her animosity so
far, that she has set her brother and her
attorneys, and the whole kit of 'em, to work
heaven and earth to bring this about?
Oh, I heard something of what they were
brewing. Nothing like cleverness and
perseverance: I declare I admire them for
it!"

Mr. Leader answered a little pettishly:
"Oh that's not the view at all. You know
as head of the house——"

"Ah, nonsense! Don't tell me. You've
a good sound sensible heart of your own,
Mr. Leader, that can take a broad, man-
of-the-world view. It's only natural for
them too. I don't blame 'em. They act
only after their light. Surely they know
that the poor lad up-stairs is none of their
flesh and blood. Mrs. Leader never looked
with a kindly eye on him from the day she
came into the family. She and her brother
and her attorneys would be glad to shovel
him aside out of the way. Ah, my dear
sir, it's only the old story. They've put
you against your poor wife's child; the one
she commended to you on her death-bed,
and with her last breath."

How did the Doctor learn this touching
biographical fact? Probably he never
learnt it at all, but evolved it out of his
own knowledge of the unvarying laws of
human character. However, he learnt it
in truth now, from the blush that came
into Mr. Leader's face.

"Ah," said the Doctor, rising to light a
candle, "for the sake of humanity I won't
believe it yet. You must be tired, my
dear sir, and longing to get into the
feathers. So am I, for that matter. We
can't promise you anything like the
Leadersfort 'downs,' for we're roughing it
here."

The Folkestone town clock was chiming
half-past two, when Mr. Leader went
thoughtfully to his room, thinking perhaps
of his daughter-in-law's pale face and
dejected manner.