This was put forth as an invitation to Julius to expound not only his own situation, but also his relations with Lady and Miss Lefevre, but Julius took no heed of it.  He merely said, “No; I was not ill.  I only wanted a little change to refresh me,”—­and walked back to the window to lave himself in the air.

“Well,” continued Lefevre, “since I called to see you, I have had an adventure or two.  You never look at a newspaper except for the weather, and so it is probable you do not know that I had brought to me yesterday afternoon another strange case like that of the young officer a month ago,—­a similar case, but worse.”

“Worse?” exclaimed Julius, dropping into the chair by the window, and glancing, as a less preoccupied observer than the doctor would have remarked, with a wistful desire at the door.

“Much worse—­though, I believe, from the same hand,” said Lefevre.  “A lady this time,—­titularly and really a lady,—­Lady Mary Fane, the daughter of Lord Rivercourt.”

“Oh, good heavens!” exclaimed Julius, and there were manifest so keen a note of apprehension in his voice and so deep a shade of apprehension on his face, that Lefevre could not but note them and confirm himself in his suspicion of the intimate bond of connection between him and the author of the outrage.  He pitied Julius’s distress, and hurried through the rest of his revelation, careless of the result he had sought.

“It may prove,” said he, “a far more serious affair than the other.  Lord Rivercourt is not the man to sit quietly under an outrage like that.”

Julius astonished him by demanding, “What is the outrage?  Has the lady given an account of it?  What does she accuse the man of?”

“She has not spoken yet,—­to me, at least,” said Lefevre; “and I don’t know what the outrage can be called, but I am sure Lord Rivercourt—­and he is a man of immense influence—­will move heaven and earth to give it a legal name, and to get it punishment.  There is a detective on the man’s track now.”

“Oh!” said Julius.  “Well, it will be time enough to discuss the punishment when the man is caught.  Now, if that is all your news,” he added hurriedly, “I think—­” He took up his hat, and was as if going to the door.

“It is not quite all,” said the doctor, and Julius went back to the window, with his hat in his hand.

“I wonder,” he broke out, “if we shall ever be simple enough and intelligent enough to perceive that real wickedness—­the breaking of any of the laws of Nature, I mean (or, if you prefer to say so, the laws of God)—­is best punished by being left to itself?  Outraged nature exacts a severe retribution!  But you were going to say—?”

“The night before last,” continued Lefevre, determined to be brief and succinct, “I was walking in the Strand, and I could not help observing a man who fulfilled completely the description given of the author of this case and my former one.”