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372 the doctor opposed it. He had not, however, as yet ferreted out the squire, or given a bit of his mind to Mr. Gazebee, and it behoved him to do this before he took himself off to his own country mansion. He ended, therefore, by deciding to go on the next day but one.

'Let it be so, if you are well enough,' said the doctor.

'Well enough!' said the other, with a sneer. 'There's nothing to make me ill that I know of. It certainly won't be drinking too much here.'

On the next day, Sir Louis was in a different mood, and in one more distressing for the doctor to bear. His compelled abstinence from intemperate drinking had, no doubt, been good for him; but his mind had so much sunk under the pain of the privation, that his state was piteous to behold. He had cried for his servant, as a child cries for its nurse, till at last the doctor, moved to pity, had himself gone out and brought the man in from the public-house. But when he did come, Joe was of but little service to his master, as he was altogether prevented from bringing him either wine or spirits; and when he searched for the liqueur-case, he found that even that had been carried away.

'I believe you want me to die,' he said, as the doctor, sitting by his bedside, was trying, for the hundredth time, to make him understand that he had but one chance of living.

The doctor was not the least irritated. It would have been as wise to be irritated by the want of reason in a dog.

'I am doing what I can to save your life,' he said calmly; 'but, as you said just now, I have no power over you. As long as you are able to move and remain in my house, you certainly shall not have the means of destroying yourself. You will be very wise to stay here for a week or ten days: a week or ten days of healthy living might, perhaps, bring you round.'

Sir Louis again declared that the doctor wished him to die, and spoke even of sending for his attorney, Finnie, to come to Greshamsbury to look after him.

'Send for him if you choose,' said the doctor. 'His coming will cost you three or four pounds, but can do no other harm.'

'And I will send for Fillgrave,' threatened the baronet. 'I'm not going to die here like a dog.'

It was certainly hard upon Dr. Thorne that he should be obliged to entertain such a guest in his house;—to entertain him, and foster him, and care for him, almost as though he were a son. But he had no alternative; he had accepted the charge from Sir Roger, and he must go through with it. His conscience, moreover, allowed him no rest in this matter: it harassed him day