He had not been there a week before he rang his bell one day, and was found bleeding from the lungs.  His landlady called in a physician; and it is probable that this gentleman did not know or suspect the circumstances of his patient; for he not only ordered ice and various expensive things, but took fees, while the poor patient was lying forbidden to speak, and gnawed with anxiety as to where more money was to come from, and with eagerness to get to work.  His friends soon found him out in his trouble; and I understood from him afterwards, and from others who knew more about it than he did, that they were extremely kind.  I believe that one left a bank-note of a considerable amount at the door, in a blank envelope.  All charges were defrayed, and he was bidden not to be anxious.  Yet something must be done.  What must it be?

As soon as he was allowed to raise his head from his pillow, he wrote me a note in pencil; and it afforded an opening for discussing his affairs with him.  He had some impression of his life’s being in danger; for it was now that he confided to me the whole story of his attachment, and the sufferings attending it:  but he was still sanguine about doing great things in literature, and chafing at his unwilling idleness.  I was strongly of opinion that the best way of dealing with him was to be perfectly open; and, after proposing that we should have no reserves, I told him what (proceeding on his own report of his health) I should in his place decide upon doing.  His pride would cause him some pain in either of the two courses which were open to him,—­but, I thought, more in one than the other.  If he remained in his lodgings, he would break his heart about being a burden (as he would say) to his friends; and he would fret after work so as to give himself no chance of such recovery as might be hoped for:  whereas, if he could once cheerfully agree to enter a hospital, he would have every chance of rallying, and all the sooner for being free from any painful sense of obligation.  If the treatment should succeed, this passage in his life would be something to smile at hereafter, or to look back upon with sound satisfaction; and if not, he would have friends about him, just as he would in a lodging.

The effect was what I wished.  My letter gave no offence, and did him no harm.  He only begged for a few days more, before deciding that he might satisfy himself whether he was getting well or not:  if not, he would cheerfully go wherever his friends advised, and believe that the plan was the best for him.

In those few days arrangements were made for his being received at the Sanatorium,—­an institution in which sick persons who had either previously subscribed, or who were the nominees of subscribers, were received, and well tended for a guinea a week, under the comfortable circumstances of a private house.  Each patient had a separate chamber; and the medical attendance, diet, and arrangements were of a far higher order