looking more disturbed and uneasy than ever, entered the room.
"I'm sorry to say, sir," he began, not waiting for me to speak, "that my master has not yet returned. We can't none of us account for his absence."
"You don't fear an accident?" I asked.
"Oh, no, sir, that's scarcely likely. Dr. Ogilvie is the best rider in the country round, and though the mare is a bit skittish, she's like a lamb always when he sits on her. Dr. Ogilvie may have ridden over as far as Tewbury, which is a matter of eighteen miles from here; he has patients there, I know, and he may be detained for the night."
"Scarcely likely," I said, "with Mrs. Ogilvie so ill."
"She is that, sir; she's mortal bad, and we all think———" He stopped and forced back some words. "I can't tell you why my master isn't home, Dr. Halifax; but as there has been no call from any special patients this evening, perhaps you'd like me to take you to your room, sir."
"There does not seem any use in staying up longer," I said. "If you are going to sit up for Dr. Ogilvie, you can tell him that I am here, and can be disturbed at any moment if necessary. Now I will follow you upstairs."
I was shown into a comfortable room, furnished as handsomely as all the rest of the spacious house. A fire, newly made up, burned on the hearth, and several tall candles helped to make the apartment cheerful. I was dead tired, and did not take long tumbling into bed. I had scarcely laid my head on my pillow before I sank into a profound and dreamless sleep. It seemed only to last a moment, although in reality I must have been in bed a couple of hours, when I was awakened by someone shaking me and flashing a light in my eyes.
"I wish you would get up, Mr. Halifax, and come with me," said Dr. Roper. "I cannot account for Dr. Ogilvie's prolonged absence. He has not yet returned, and Mrs. Ogilvie's condition is so unsatisfactory that I should like you to see her."
"I will come at once," I replied. I was not three minutes getting into my clothes, and an instant later found me in the sick chamber. It did not bear the ordinary appearance of a room of illness—the darkness and the enforced quiet of such chambers were both absent.
A merry fire burned on the hearth; candles were shedding cheerful rays over the room. A young woman who wore a nurse's cap and apron leant over the rail at the foot of the bed; a middle-aged woman, with a somewhat unpleasant face, was standing by the fire and occasionally bending forward to watch the contents of a saucepan which was heating on the flames. There was a strong smell of coffee in the apartment, and I did not doubt that the nurse and the attendant were going to prepare themselves cups of this beverage.
On entering the room my attention was primarily attracted by these two women, but when I turned to the bed I forgot all about them.
"Seated upright on the bed was a little boy."
Seated upright on the bed was a little boy of from four to five years of age. He had a quantity of tumbled hair of a light shade,
