But that is a fault that may be remedied some day.

One thing I know about him is, that when I called him in to see one of my boarders, he sat by his bedside half an hour, watching him, and then went away without giving him any medicine.”

“I don’t see the good of that. What do you make of that? I call it very odd.”

“He said to me: ‘I am not sure what is the matter with him. A wrong medicine would do him more harm than the right one would do him good. Meantime he is in no danger. I will come and see him to-morrow morning.’ Now I liked that, because it showed me that he was thinking over the case. The boy was well in two days.

Not that that indicates much. All I say is, he is not a common man.”

“I don’t like to dismiss Dr. Wade.”

“No; but you must not stand on ceremony, if he is doing her no good. You are judge enough of that.”

I thought it best to say nothing; but I heartily approved of all the honest gentleman said; and I meant to use my persuasion afterwards, if necessary, to the same end; for I liked all he told about the new doctor. I asked his name.

“Mr. Armstrong,” answered the schoolmaster.

“Armstrong-” I repeated. “Is not that the name of the new curate?”

“To be sure. They are brothers. Henry, the doctor, is considerably younger than the curate.”

“Did the curate seek the appointment because the doctor was here before him?”

“I suppose so. They are much attached to each other.”

“If he is at all equal as a doctor to what I think his brother is as a preacher, Purleybridge is a happy place to possess two such healers,” I said.

“Well, time will show,” returned Mr. Bloomfield.

All this time Percy sat yawning, and drinking claret. When we joined the ladies, we found them engaged in a little gentle chat. There was something about Mrs.

Bloomfield that was very pleasing. The chief ingredient in it was a certain quaint repose. She looked as if her heart were at rest; as if for her everything, was right; as if she had a little room of her own, just to her mind, and there her soul sat, looking out through the muslin curtains of modest charity, upon the world that went hurrying and seething past her windows. When we entered-

“I was just beginning to tell Miss Cathcart,” she said, “a curious history that came under my notice once. I don’t know if I ought though, for it is rather sad.”

“Oh! I like sad stories,” said Adela.

“Well, there isn’t much of romance in it either, but I will cut it short now the gentlemen are come. I knew the lady. She had been married some years. And report said her husband was not overkind to her. All at once she disappeared, and her husband thought the worst of her. Knowing her as well as I did, I did not believe a word of it. Yet it was strange that she had left her baby, her only child, of a few months, as well as her husband. I went to see her mother directly I heard of it, and together we went to the police; and such a search as we had! We traced her to a wretched lodging, where she had been for two nights, but they did not know what had become of her. In fact, they had turned her out because she had no money.