He got out, saying his adieus, and the carriage drove on.  He found himself well past the Albany.  He hurried back, nerved by the desire to encounter Julius’s visitor, and at the same time by the hope that he would not.  In his heart was a turmoil of feeling, to the surface of which continued to rise pity for Julius.  The events of the evening had forced him to the conclusion that Julius possessed the same singular, magnetic, baleful influence on men and women as his putative father Hernando; but Julius’s burst of agony, when Nora lay overcome, had declared to him that till then he had scarcely been aware of the destructive side of his power.  All resentment, therefore, all sense of offence and suspicion which had lately begun to arise in his mind, was swallowed up in pity for his afflicted friend.  His chief desire, now that he seemed reduced to the level of suffering humanity, was to give him help and counsel.

Thus he entered the Albany, and passed the porter.  The lamps in the flagged passage were little better than luminous shadows in the darkness, and the hollow silence re-echoed the sound of his hurried steps.  No one was to be seen or heard in front of him.  He came to the letter which marked Julius’s abode.  He looked into the gloomy doorway, and resolved he would see and speak to Julius in any case.  He passed into the gloom and knocked at Julius’s door.  After a pause the door was opened by Jenkins.  Lefevre could not well make out the expression of the serving-man’s face, but he was satisfied that his voice was shaken as by a recent shock.

“I wish to see Mr Courtney,” said Lefevre, in the half hope that Jenkins would say, “Which Mr Courtney?”

“Not at home, sir,” said Jenkins in his flurried voice, and prepared to shut the door.

“Not at home, Jenkins?  You don’t mean that!”

“Oh, it’s you, Dr Lefevre, sir.  Mr Courtney is not at home, but perhaps he will see you, sir!  I hope he will; for he don’t seem to me at all well.”

“But if he is engaged, Jenkins—?”

“Oh, sir, you know what ‘not-at-home’ means,” answered Jenkins.  “It means anything or nothing.  Will you step into the drawing-room, sir, while I inquire?  Mr Courtney is in his study.”

“Thank you, Jenkins,” said the doctor; “I’ll wait where I am.”

Jenkins returned with deep concern on his face.  “Mr Courtney’s compliments, sir,” said he, “and he is very sorry he cannot see you to-night.  It is a pity, sir,” he added, in a burst of confidence, “for he don’t seem well.  He’s a-settin’ there with the lamp turned down, and his face in his hands.”

“Is he alone, then?” asked the doctor.

“Oh yes, sir,” answered Jenkins, in manifest surprise.

“Has nobody been to see him since he came in?”

“No, sir, nobody,” said Jenkins, in wider surprise than before.

It appeared to Lefevre that his friend must be sitting alone with the terrible discovery he had that night made of himself.  His heart, therefore, urged him to go in and take him by the hand, and give what help and comfort he could.