dawned that Sir Albert Ray drove up to the
cottage. His eye caught the open windows.

"She lives yet!" he thought, with some
surprise.

The next moment he was beside tie bed of
the fevered-tossing patient. George was
astonished at the calm, confident, almost cheerful
face with which the renowned physician gazed
upon a case which every one felt to be hopeless,
and he presently descended to the drawing-
room, there to await the word of doom.

When Sir Albert rejoined him, the look of
confidence had vanished. He pressed his
young friend's hand.

"No hope?" murmured the latter.

"There should be none," replied the other.
"I shall see her again, when I have spoken with
her medical adviser—Mr. whom did you say?
—Woford. He is sent for, I think. This is,
you say, the fourth day—the fourth?"(George
assented.) "That is unusual .... but there
is no absolute rule." And the doctor fell into
meditation.

"Has this poor lady made frequent allusion
to the cause of her attack?"

"Very frequent."

"Is she acquainted with the ordinary
symptoms of the disorder?"

"Too well, I fear!"

"Hem! It may be so," said Sir Albert,
thoughtfully. "Has she complained of a rising
a globular feeling (if I called it by its
name, clavus hystericus, you wouldn't
understand me) in her throat?"

"From the first."

"Where the deuce is Woford?" said Sir
Albert, starting from his chair. "One question
more, by-the-by. Had she suffered from any
sudden and violent impulse of emotion?"

"None that I am aware of," said George,
"but——"

"Stay you here," said the physician, and
vanished.

The ten minutes that followed seemed
interminable. When his step was heard returning,
George's heart stood still.

"Can you bear hope?" were the first words
he heard. "Mind, I say hope—no more. Then,"
continued Sir Albert, without waiting for an
answer, "give me a magnifying-glass. Look at
the toy they offered me above." (He showed
Mrs. Turnover's spectacles.) "Nay, as I'm a
living doctor, here's my own. How came
I——I remember. Come with me."

They went up-stairs. Esther was sitting up
in bed, pale as death.

"There's a complexion for you!" cried the
doctor, exultingly. "Talk to me of rabies, with
a face like that! Woford was a baby, and,
'faith, I'm not much better, for listening to you
all, instead of attending to my work myself.
Come, miss, I must have another and a closer
peep at that hand. Out with it." He applied
the glass very carefullv, looking at it again and
again. Then he fumbled a little with his
waistcoat-pocket, and presently saying sweetly, "Now
don't scream," probed the open wound with a
touch that absolutely wrung from the patient the
shriek he had deprecated. It was but that
single touch. He waved something aloft.

"There's your mad dog!" he shouted.
Rabies! hydrophobia! Hydrofiddlestick! A
rose-thorn and a lacerated nerve. In no more
danger than I am! A sudden emotion brought
on hysteria. Her own imagination did the rest.
The case is uncommon. Keep her quiet—
light solids. See, I am going to lie down for
two hours. If, by that time, my lady here is
not drinking like a little fish, I'll resign my
diploma."

The doctor was right. In two hours he had
departed, carrying with him countless blessings
and leaving a hint (which nobody comprehended)
for Mr. Woford's future guidance, wherein the
words "borborygmi" and "clavus hystericus"
had a considerable share.

It was the fifth morning. The lovers—such,
alas! they were—sat together for the last time,
for Esther was inflexible. George's oath and
promise must be held as sacred as though her
own life had not been ransomed from the fearful
doom that seemed to threaten it. Her whole
soul was devoted to the task of reconciling him
to the separation, which was inevitable, and
must be immediate.

How far she succeeded there is no occasion
to relate. The trial was not decreed.

George was summoned away for a few
moments, and in his place there was kneeling a
veiled figure. The veil was thrown aside, and
never did Mildred's angel-face look more augelic
than while she whispered:

"My darling! I come to give you back your
own. My compact was not made with the living
Esther, but the dead. He is yours, and my
blessing with him; for you have taught me a
noble lesson, that shall not be lost upon this
selfish heart. And do not fear or grieve for
me. When we meet, in pleasant days (I hope)
to come, I shall be able to confess that my
happiness, which deserved a deadly wound, has,
like this dear hand, after all, sustained but a
mere scratch."

Early in December will be published, stitched in a cover,
                    price Fourpence,
                  MUGBY JUNCTION,
   THE EXTRA DOUBLE NUMBER FOR
                     CHRISTMAS,
  which will contain, in addition to other STORIES to be
                 announced shortly,
BARBOX BROTHERS,
THE BOY AT MUGBY,
THE SIGNALMAN,                         By CHARLES DICKENS
                   and
BARBOX BROTHERS AND Co