veiled eyes and blinked.  One, Rupert, struck a strict tail feebly upon the carpet in token of acquiescence and gratified goodwill.  Mab heaved herself over until she rested more completely upon her side, and allowed an enormous sigh to rumble through her monotonously.  Julian enjoyed that sigh.  It made him for the moment an optimist, as a happy child makes a dreary old man shivering on the edge of death an optimist.  Dogs are blessed things.  That was his thought.  And just then the door at the end of the room opened quietly, and Doctor Levillier came in, with a cloak on and his crush-hat in his hand.

“I am glad to see you, Addison,” he said.

The dogs shook themselves up onto their legs and laid their heads against his knees.

“Lawler, please bring my gruel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Addison, will you have brandy or whisky?”

“Whisky, please, doctor.”

Lawler took his master’s cloak and hat, and the doctor came up to the fire.

“So Valentine has gone home to bed?” he said.

“Yes.”

“He’s all right, I hope?”

“Yes.  Indeed, doctor, I thought him looking more fit than usual to-day, more alive than I have often seen him.”

“I noticed that last night, when he revived from his trance.  It struck me very forcibly, very forcibly indeed.  But you—­” and the doctor’s eyes were on Julian’s face—­“look older than your age to-night, my boy.”

He sat down and lit a cigar.  The mastiffs coiled themselves at his feet rapturously.  They sighed, and he sighed too, quietly in satisfaction.  He loved the one hour before midnight, the hour of perfect rest for him.  Putting his feet on Rupert’s back, he went on: 

“Last night’s events upset you seriously, I see, young and strong though you are.  But the most muscular men are more often the prey of their nervous systems than most people are aware.  Spend a few quiet days.  Fence in the morning.  Ride—­out in the country, not in the Park.  Get off your horse now and then, tie him up at a lych-gate and sit in a village church.  Listen to the amateur organist practising ‘Abide with me,’ and the ‘Old Hundredth,’ on the Leiblich Gedacht and the Dulciana, with the bourdon on the pedals.  There’s nothing like that for making life seem a slow stepper instead of a racer.  And take Valentine with you.  I should like to sit with him in a church at twilight, when the rooks were going home, and the organ was droning.  Ah, well, but I must not think of holidays.”

“Doctor, I like your prescription.  Yes; I am feeling a bit out of sorts to-night.  Last night, you see—­and then to-day.”

“Surely, Addison, surely you haven’t been sitting—­but no, forgive me.  I’ve got your promise.  Well, what is it?”

Julian replied quickly: 

“That man I told you about, Marr, is dead.”

Doctor Levillier looked decidedly startled.  Julian’s frequent allusions to Marr and evident strange interest in the man, had impressed him as it had impressed Valentine.  However, he only said: