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sideways at the disappointed hero of the apple-tree. He observed the smile, and it sent him off in hot haste to minister to his patient.

Dr. Humphreys chuckled much at some secret joke which he would not explain to anybody.

What do you think of my young colleague?' he inquired as the walked towards the house.

'He seems to be very light-hearted,' she answered calmly.

'Too light-hearted, I sometimes think, and yet he can be serious too, when occasion requires it. I have heard him talk with the gravity of a judge pronouncing sentence of death. But the impression never lasts long with him. As soon as he escapes from the surroundings which made him serious, he seems to forget them entirely.'

lady confirmed him in the idea. But what was it?

the

That was the question he harped upon all the time he was riding along green lanes to the farmstead where his patient lay. The question haunted and confused his mind even when he was in the presence of the invalid, and sensible of the responsibility which rested upon him. Whilst he was feeling the woman's pulse and examining her tongue, Margaret Richardson was in his mind. He made severe efforts to recall himself to the duties he had to perform, and he succeeded so far that he made no blunder. The case was a simple one, although at times the weakness of the woman alarmed her husband and caused him to send post-haste for the doctor. Aylmer's blithe manner and hopeful nature communicated hope to the patient, and so

'But it is a great blessing to have helped towards her recovery. a light heart, Doctor.'

So it is, and I hope he will long retain his.'

The Doctor was very merry at table, and whilst he ate heartily he expatiated on the miseries of the life of a medical man who never had a moment that he could call his own, by night or by day, and never was allowed time to take a proper meal.

'A message from Mrs. Doldrums, sir,' said a servant entering the room, and would you please go at once.'

'All right.'

'The servant disappeared; the Doctor quietly finished his meal, took ten minutes' nap, and then obeyed the summons of Mrs. Doldrums. He knew, however, that the lady's ailments were more imaginary than real, and therefore could afford to take his ease.

II.

WHAT was the mystery of this girl's life? There was a mystery, John Aylmer felt sure: the pale face, the dreamy inquiring eyes, the self-possession, and the self-repression of the

But as soon as he was on the road again, Margaret Richardson took full possession of his mind. 'Madge' the Doctor always called her, and it was as Madge that Aylmer always thought of her. It was the prettiest name he knew, and it always conjured up the pale earnest face which had fascinated him.

At dinner he was more silent than usual, although he made palpable efforts to be agreeable. In the drawingroom he tried to sing, but he was husky and the higher notes were painfully flat. He excused himself. Miss Richardson remarked that the voice frequently failed after driving about in an autumn evening. He retired to his room with the uncomfortable feeling that he had made a fool of himself when he had most desired to appear particularly bright.

He filled his pipe, took up the last copy of the Lancet, but he read nothing Madge was still the centre of his thoughts.

She had come there only a few days before, and her pale, grave face had attracted him at once. On the first evening of her arrival he had entered

into a lively discussion with her on the merits of Comte's philosophy and the Life of John Stuart Mill. It is always dangerous when a young and pretty woman and an impressionable man begin to discuss philosophy.

They became friends immediately, and philosophy soon gave place to lighter themes in their conversationmusic, theatres, novels. She played the piano with skill and feeling, and he, with a superficial knowledge of the notes, was able, by watching the music, to turn the leaves for her at the proper moment without requiring any sign. Utterly unconscious of what he was doing, he entered into a violent flirtation with her, which threatened to become something more-but the flirtation was all on one side. She was kindly, but always maintained her calm manner.

In two days he talked to her with a kind of chaffing earnestness about everything she did, as if he had been her intimate friend for years. He proposed wild excursions to the sights of the district which they were to make alone in the teeth of all propriety, and she did not say 'No.' She had even accepted his invitation to accompany him one fine moonlight when he had to drive five miles to see a patient. Of course the plea was that it would be such a splendid thing to watch the effect of the moonlight amongst the trees as they drove through the Earl's Park. The Doctor was not at home, and Mrs. Humphreys was too feeble a person to make any strong objection to the plan, although she did not like it. Besides, Madge had once said to her that she felt quite competent to take care of herself.

Aylmer was very particular about the rugs, very anxious to see that she was sufficiently wrapped, and that her pretty feet should be kept warm. She accepted his attention as a matter of course, only requiring the one word 'thanks' in return. They started, and they were very merry on the way, and he at any rate saw very little of the

beautiful moonlight effects amongst the trees in the Earl's Park. More than once he had been tempted to kiss her when she turned to him with those soft yearning eyes, as if wondering at some of his absurd sayings; but there was always that serious reserve in her manner which he respected in spite of his way of becoming familiar with everybody in half-an-hour to the extent of using the Christian name.. Perhaps some thoughts of his own position, also, restrained him from making deliberate proposals.

She was the daughter of an old schoolmate and friend of Dr. Humphreys. Her father had died recently, leaving her a small annuity of fifty pounds a year. Her mother had died when Madge was only ten years old. Now she had come to stay at Dr. Humphreys' house until her future course should be decided upon. She had often lived with the Humphreys before, when their son Jack had been at home.

John Aylmer had received his degree of M. B. at the Edinburgh University, and for a year he had been acting as the assistant of Dr. Humphreys— the oldest established and principal medical man in Dunthorpe. Alymer lived in the house, and his merry spirits soon made him a welcome addition to the family. The jovial-old Doctor found in him not only an active assistant, but almost a substitute for the son who should have been with him. Except in the few quiet curtain hours allowed to the busy country practitioner, Dr.. Humphreys never spoke of the absent son; but his absence had made a deeper scar on the old man's heart than anyone who saw his ruddy, genial countenance would have imagined.

Aylmer was the son of a widow, who had been a patient of Dr. Humphreys, and he was made welcome. The young man's bright and kindly nature not only won the affection of the Doctor and his wife, but obtained the esteem of the patients to such a degree that they never grumbled when the

assistant appeared instead of the principal.

He was a robust, cheery follow who at once became an authority amongst the local cricket clubs, and as soon as his play had been witnessed each club competed eagerly to make him a member. He was fond of a gun, and never lost an opportunity that was offered him to use one, no matter what the game might be. He often wished to get off to the jungles of India in order that he might feel what real sport was -sport in which there was danger to the sportsman as well as to his quarry. But he turned away from the thought of leaving England, because his mother would be left alone. She had struggled hard enough to make a small income meet the expenses of his education for the profession to which he was devoted with the enthusiasm that makes many men sacrifice their lives to their work.

When a child and standing by the death-bed of his father, watching the physician who was powerless to save the life so dear to his mother, he made up his mind to be a 'doctor.' And the source of his inspiration was the hope of being able to do something to save life. That idea never left him, although, as he grew up, his mirthfulness often blinded people to the noble impulse which had guided him in his choice of a profession.

But

He had been all along aware of the struggle his mother had made on his behalf, and there had been many a bitter day of regret that he had been the cause of so much sacrifice. the thought quickened his energies. Then came the happy day on which he passed his examination with honour, and from that moment his whole ambition was to repay his mother for all that she had done by providing ease, and if possible luxury, for her declining days. Therefore he had resolved never to marry.

But now Madge, Madge, Madge' was the burden of his thoughts, and his step became quicker when he

walked, with that sweet face and the sad eyes haunting him.

Occasionally he would pull himself up, and speak as if he were addressing a love-sick friend.

"This is nonsense. You know you can't marry her at any rate you couldn't do so for a good many years, and she might get tired of waiting.' (Even to himself he qualified the statement you can't marry her.') 'No, no, my lad, you must think about other things and keep out of her way. all very well to make love in fun, but this is beginning to be love in earnest. I won't go near her to day until dinnertime.'

It's

With which brave resolve he marched on as if strong ropes could not draw him from it. But he happened to turn his head towards the meadow, and he saw Miss Richardson walking slowly down the footpath towards the river.

He instantly altered his own course, and followed her hastily. A lover's consistency!

'I am glad to see you out this splendid afternoon,' he said, as he approached.

There was a kind of startled expression in her eyes as if she had been caught doing something wrong.

Oh, Mr. Aylmer! I thought you were at the other end of the village.' 'So I was, but I have been called to the blacksmith's.'

'Then why don't you go?'

'I would like to walk as far as the river with you first.'

'And I would rather you went to the blacksmith's first. Duty before pleasure, you know.'

And she meant it: he saw that she did, and yet the words were spoken in such a quiet, sweet voice that he loved her all the more.

Upon my word, Miss Richardson, you are a tyrant, and, I suppose I must give in?'

'If you wish to please me--yes.'
That settles it-I'm off.'

He retraced his steps hastily to the road, glancing back occasionally to

watch the tall graceful figure walking slowly towards the bridge. Presently he turned into the road and the high hawthorn hedge hid her from his sight. What a droll girl she was! And what could her solitary meditations be about?

III.

THE drawing-room was lit by the glow of a bright fire, and the last glimmer of the autumn twilight. Far away on the horizon there were still a few streaks of pale gold, bordered by fiery red; hitherward, the sky was rapidly darkening.

Miss Richardson entered the room. She took up the album of photographs, opened it at a place which her fingers seemed to know by instinct. There was a portrait on each page; she removed the one on the right, and put another in its place.

It was the portrait of a tall man, with somewhat soft features so far as they could be seen, for the face was almost covered with bushy whiskers, beard and moustache; and he was dressed in a uniform. The portrait on the left was that of a pale-faced young fellow with only the shadow of hair on his upper lip. The large horseshoe pin in his breast, and the white hat crossed by a riding whip, at once suggested a horsey' man. The face of the portrait which Miss Richardson had just inserted indicated some suffering and a general gravity of cha

racter.

She left the album open on the little table, which she placed near the head of the couch. Next she lit the gas, took her work-basket, and resumed the knitting of a stocking which had been begun in the morning. She had no taste for fancy work: she liked to be doing something useful, and she was now knitting a pair of thick warm socks to be presented to the Doctor on the anniversary of his birthday, which was drawing near.

Dr. Humphreys got home earlier than usual this evening.

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He rested his elbows on the table and his brow on his clasped hands. Madge's needles moved rapidly, but she did not look up. Presently he said:

"You might play something, Madge.' She stuck her needle into the sock, rolled up her wool, put away the work-basket and went to the piano. She began her favourite air, Hame, hame, hame-but she had only played a few bars when he stopped her.

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'Not that, Madge, not that-something merry, something to make one's feet move, and one's heart light.'

She immediately began the blithesome old English air of 'Now, lasses and lads, take leave of your dads, and away to the maypole hie.' But the merry tune had no better effect upon him than the sad one, for in a few minutes he interrupted her again.

'There is a new photograph here. Whose is it? Why, surely, it can't

be Jack!'

She came to his side.

'Yes, that is Jack, only he has allowed the hair to grow all over his face.'

'But they can't have made him an officer already-I see, he must have got on to the medical staff. Well done, Jack!'

The Doctor rose, and agitatedly walked to the window, looked out on the darkness, and returned to the album.

'He must have sent that to his mother, and the poor old wife takes this way of showing it to me- as if there were any reason to suppose I would not be glad to see it! I wonder if he has written to her?'

He walked up and down, his plump hands clasped at his back, his head bowed.

Madge was relieved of one difficulty -that of explaining how the portrait came there. The other difficulty-how to answer the question had Jack written-she avoided.

'Are you sorry he went away?' she said, softly.

'No, Madge, no-if I may judge from that photograph, the banishment has done him good, although it has caused us much more pain than I care to think about.'

'Suppose he were to come in just now what would you say?'

The Doctor halted and lifted up his head there was a sad firmness in his expression, although his lip trembled.

'I would say to him, Have you kept your promise this time, Jack? Have you lived an honourable life-have you worked?'

'And if he answered Yes-would you believe him?'

The Doctor took off his glasses, wiped them, and when he had replaced them, looked again at the new photograph.

'I don't know,' he said, slowly and as if speaking to himself; 'he deceived me so often, that I came at last to doubt everything he told me. He never knew how hard it was for me

to endure that feeling-he never knew how long I endured his extravagances before I allowed it to take possession of me.'

She was silent; he resumed his march up and down the room, with head bowed.

'I never told you how it was he had to go away,' the Doctor went on, and his husky voice showed that he was deeply agitated. 'Whilst he was a . student he spent more of his time at horse races than at his studies. Again and again I had to pay debts for him amounting to sums which I could ill afford, and each time he pledged his word that he would never bet again. He passed his examination fairly well, as I was astonished to learn

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'But he was very clever,' she said, quickly.

'I suppose he must have been, or he would never have lived as he did

and contrived to pass. I agreed that he should act as my assistant, and implored him to remember the responsibilities he was entering upon, and to shun horse-races and betting as he would shun the devil. ... He was not a bad lad at bottom, and there were tears in his eyes as he promised to obey me to the letter."

The Doctor paused, wiped his glasses carefully, and proceeded in a tone that became gradually firm and even stern, whilst she listened calmly, her eyes never moving from his face.

Things went on, well enough for about a year, and on several occasions the lad's knowledge astonished and delighted me. We had a difficult case of a poor woman in the village: she required constant attention, and I trusted Jack to see her whenever I might be absent. One day I had to go to Chelmsford, not expecting to be many hours away, but I gave him special instructions about this case. An urgent message came from her husband begging that the doctor would come at once. Jack sent some medicine back with the answer that he had to catch a train, but that his father

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