* * * * *

Melrose on opening the gate found himself surrounded by his dogs, a fine mastiff and two young collies.  He was trying to drive them off, after a gruff word to Dixon, when he was suddenly brought to a standstill by the sight of the woman on the steps.

“D——­n it!—­whom have you got here?” he said, fiercely perceiving at the same moment the open windows on the ground floor.

“Muster Melrose—­it’s noan o’ my doin’,” was Dixon’s trembling reply, as he pointed a shaky finger at the windows.  “It was t’ yoong doctor from Pengarth—­yo’ ken him—­”

A woman’s voice interrupted.

“Please, sir, would you stop those dogs barking?  They disturb the patient.”

Melrose looked at the speaker in stupefaction.

“What the deuce have you been doing with my house?”—­he turned furiously to Dixon—­“who are these people?”

“Theer’s a yoong man lyin’ sick i’ the drawin’-room,” said Dixon desperately.  “They do say ‘at he’s in a varra parlish condition; an’ they tell me there’s to be no barkin’ nor noise whativer.”

“Well, upon my word!” Melrose was by this time pale with rage.  “A young man—­sick—­in my drawing-room!—­and a young woman giving orders in my house!—­you’re a precious lot—­you are!” He strode on toward the young woman, who, as he now saw, was in the dress of a nurse.  She had descended the steps, and was vainly trying to quiet the dogs.

“I’ll uphold yer!” muttered Dixon, following slowly after; “it’s the queerest do-ment that iver I knew!”

“Madam!  I should like to know what your business is here.  I never invited you that I know of, and I am entirely at a loss to understand your appearance in my house!”

The girl whom Melrose addressed with this fierce mock courtesy turned on him a perplexed face.

“I know nothing about it, sir, except that I was summoned from Manchester last night to an urgent case, and arrived early this morning.  Can’t you, sir, quiet your dogs?  Mr. Faversham is very ill.”

“In my house!” cried Melrose, furiously.  “I won’t have it.  He shan’t remain here.  I will have him removed.”

The girl looked at him with amazement.

“That, sir, would be quite impossible.  It would kill him to move him. Please, Mr. Dixon, help me with the dogs.”

She turned imploringly to Dixon, who obediently administered various kicks and cuffs to the noisy trio which at last procured silence.

Her expression lightened, and with the professional alertness of one who has no time to spend in gossiping, she turned and went quickly back into the house.

Dixon approached his master.

“That’s yan o’ them,” he said, gloomily.  “T’other’s inside.”

“T’other who?—­what?  Tell me, you old fool, at once what the whole cursed business is!  Are you mad or am I?”