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 Haunted, night and day, for years now. Can't you give me something—some tonic—to set me right? Can't you cure me—make me strong?"

"Yes, I think I can, sir," I replied, "if you will obey my directions."

"I will, I will," he cried excitedly. "I won't touch another drop. Now, then, quick; what will you give me?"

"Your chance!" something seemed to whisper to me. "Digestion ruined, nerves shattered, hopeless unless you set him right. The very man for your experiment."

It was a terrible temptation, but I fought against it.

"No," I said to myself, "it would be a cowardly breach of confidence, with an untried medicine; keep to your manly, honest plan."

"Well," he continued, passing his tongue over his dry lips, with the peculiar noise made by a thirsty man, "don't be so long thinking, doctor. I want you to begin. Give me something to make me sleep in peace without jumping up in the dark, bathed in perspiration, with him there. I mean, fancying things, you understand. What will you give me? Ah! there it is again!"

He uttered a wild cry, and started from his seat to creep cowering into a corner as a rushing, tearing noise came down the street, accompanied by cries; and as I ran to the window, a cart drawn by a frightened horse tore by, to be followed a few seconds later by a crash, and then the rattle of hoofs as the horse, evidently freed from the cart, galloped on.

"A bad accident," I said. "Come and see."

It was unprofessional, of course, but for the moment I could think of nothing but the poor creatures who had been in the cart, and who were probably now lying almost close to my door, waiting for surgical help.

My wife, looking white as the proverbial sheet, was already in the passage, speechless, and pointing to the door; and directly after I was superintending the removal of four poor fellows suffering from broken bones, cuts, and contusions, and so busy was I for the next hour with a colleague, that I forgot all about my patient in my consulting room.

"How stupid!" I said, as I went back. "The poor fellow will be gone."

My wife was at the door waiting, and I answered her eager questions by another.

"That gentleman I left, is he still in the consulting-room?"

"Gentleman?" she faltered; "I don't know."

I hurried into the room to find him sitting back in one of the easy-chairs, looking quite calm and contented.

"Ah! doctor," he said; "the accident—anybody much hurt?"

"Yes, poor fellows! two, badly," I replied.

"Really, my dear sir, I owe you a thousand apologies, but in such an emergency—"

"Don't name it, doctor; don't name it," he said, smiling. "I know you'll excuse me not coming to help. My nerves are so shattered that I should have been useless. You saw how it startled me; but I'm a little better now. Will you give me a prescription?"

I looked at him curiously.

"Yes," I said, "you seem calmer now; but there is a reason for it. Look here, sir, a patient must have no secrets from his medical man. There is a cause, sir, for this apparent calmness," and I fixed his eye. "You wish me to cure you?"