"Under my treatment!" exclaimed Dr. Bleedem, with vehemence. "God bless the man! She'ld die all the sooner under anyone else's. Do you think I shan't do my best to bring her round—if it were only for my reputation. If I fail, no man in the whole wide world will be able to save her."
Our antiquary then, by way of changing the conversation, fearing he had somewhat nettled the physician, inquired, "By the way, doctor, did she discourse much during her delirium?"
"Lord, yes; a lot of rubbish, of course," replied the leech. "Imagined she was undergoing again the adventure of last night. Thought Lord Scampford was after her with his bully. Stretched out her arms for succour towards an imaginary angel, whom she said had been sent down from heaven to protect her; ever and anon confounding him with Mr. McGuilp."
Here the man of medicine indulged in the ghost of a smile.
"Did she indeed, doctor? Well, this is most interesting. Now, while you have a moment of leisure, oblige me by reading this letter."
Here the antiquary handed over the epistle of our artist to Dr. Bleedem.
The physician seized it gravely, read it through in silence to the end; re-read it, slowly folded it up, and returned it to Oldstone.
"Humph! remarkable—very," he observed, after a pause.
Further discussion on the subject was checked by the entry of the other members for their mid-day meal, during which no secret was made as to the identity of the mysterious stranger.
"Well, well, well," cried our host, when the mystery had been cleared up. "If I didn't half suspect it all along. Why, bless my soul, if I think there could be found another man in the world capable of it. Eh, Molly?"