"The answer is prepaid, sir. The boy is waiting."
I tore the telegram open and read as follows:—
"Please come as quickly as you can to Llanmordaff, North Wales. Maggie not well.—Will Raymond."
"Now, what is up?" I said to myself. "Of course I must go; but it is precious inconvenient. What am I to do?"
Here the memory of several cases of importance darted through my brain. I hastily scribbled a reply to the telegram:—
"Starting by midnight train. Meet me to-morrow morning."
This dispatched, I turned to my servant.
"I am going to North Wales," I said, "and shall start by the train which leaves Paddington Station about midnight. Look up the exact hour in the A,B,C. Pack all I require, and tell Roberts to bring the carriage round immediately."
"Won't you take some dinner, sir?" asked the man.
"Yes, yes; have it served, and be sure you send Roberts round without delay."
My servant withdrew.
I was fond of attending my patients at this hour in a private hansom, and this conveyance was ready for me in a few minutes.
I drove to the house of a brother physician, arranged with him to take my patients for the next day or two if necessary, and brought him back with me to give him names and addresses, and what further particulars he would require. Then I spent the remaining hours until it was time to catch my train, visiting one sick person after another, and assuring them of the complete confidence which I put in Denbigh's skill.
At last the time came when I must start on my long journey, and, with a feeling of natural irritation at the inconvenience of leaving my work, I entered my hansom once more, and desired the man to drive me to Paddington Station.
I caught my train and, establishing myself as comfortably as I could in a first-class carriage, tried to sleep. It has often been my lot to make hurried night journeys, and I can generally while away the long hours in almost unbroken slumber, but on this night I found that sleep would not come. My brain felt particularly active. I thought over many things—Raymond and his pretty wife in particular. I wondered why my thoughts would linger so pertinaciously around Will and his and his pretty, delicate-looking wife. I saw her again in her soft bridal dress—I met again the full-satisfied, absolutely contented look on her almost childish face—but what really worried me was the remembrance which came again, and again, and yet again of the expression in her large grey eyes—the strange look which was not caused by anything mental, but was due to some peculiar physical organization.
I had made hysteria, in its many forms, my study, and I had a sort of conviction that Mrs. Raymond's temperament must be closely allied to this strange, mysterious, and overpowering disorder which comes in so many guises and wrecks so many lives.
Towards morning I fell asleep, and about nine o'clock arrived at Llanmordaff, a very out-of-the-way little place, to which a small local train bore me during the last eight miles of my journey.
I expected Will to meet me on the platform, but to my surprise he was not there. He had only given me the address, "Llanmordaff, North Wales," on his telegram. I concluded, therefore, that he must be putting up at the inn, and went there at once to inquire for him.
"I sent up my card."
I was right in this conjecture. Immediately on my arrival I was informed that the Ray-
