I explained as collectedly as possible that I wanted the address of one of his patients, a dear old friend of mine, whom I had missed as she passed through New York, and that, as I was about to sail for Europe in a few days, I had rushed over to bid her good-bye.  “Mrs. Antoinette Sloman, it is, doctor.”

The doctor eyed me keenly:  he put out his hand to the little silver bell that stood on the table and tapped it sharply.  The servant appeared at the door:  “Let the carriage wait, James.”

Again the watchful, keen expression.  Did he think me an escaped lunatic, or that I had an intent to rob the old lady?  Apparently the scrutiny was satisfactory, for he took out a little black book from his pocket, and turning over the leaves, said, “Certainly, here it is—­No. 30 Elm street, West Philadelphia.”

Over the river, then, again:  no wonder I had not seen them in the Sunday’s search.

“I will take you over,” said Dr. R——­, replacing the book in his pocket again.  “Mrs. Sloman is on my list.  Wait till I eat a biscuit, and I’ll drive you over in my carriage.”

Shrewd little man! thought I:  if I am a convict or a lunatic with designs on Mrs. Sloman, he is going to be there to see.

“Till he ate a biscuit?” I should think so.  To his invitation, most courteously urged, that I should come and share his supper—­“You’ve just come from the train, and you won’t get back to your hotel for two hours, at least”—­I yielded a ready acceptance, for I was really very hungry:  I forget whether I had eaten anything all day.

But the biscuit proved to be an elegant little supper served in glittering plate, and the doctor lounged over the tempting bivalves until I could scarce conceal my impatience.

“Do you chance to know,” he said carelessly, as at last we rose from the table and he flung his napkin down, “Mrs. Sloman’s niece, Miss Stewart?”

“Excellently well,” I said smiling:  “in fact, I believe I am engaged to be married to her.”

“My dear fellow,” said the doctor, bursting out laughing, “I am delighted to hear it!  Take my carriage and go.  I saw you were a lawyer, and you looked anxious and hurried; and I made up my mind that you had come over to badger the old lady into making her will.  I congratulate you with all my soul—­and myself, too,” he added, shaking my hand.  “Only think!  Had it not been for your frankness, I should have taken a five-mile ride to watch you and keep you from doing my patient an injury.”

The good doctor quite hurried me into the carriage in the effusion of his discovery; and I was soon rolling away in that luxurious vehicle over the bridge, and toward Bessie at last.

I cannot record that interview in words, nor can I now set down any but the mere outline of our talk.  My darling came down to meet me with a quick flush of joy that she did not try to conceal.  She was natural, was herself, and only too glad, after the contretemps in New York, to see me again.  She pitied me as though I had been a tired child when I told her pathetically of my two journeys to Philadelphia, and laughed outright at my interview with Dr. R——.