Doctor Hillhouse, the old family physician, called up in the middle of that stormy night, hesitated to obey the summons, and sent his assistant with word that he would be round early in the morning if needed.  Doctor Angier, the assistant, was a young physician of fine ability and great promise.  Handsome in person, agreeable in manner and thoroughly in love with his profession, he was rapidly coming into favor with many of the old doctor’s patients, the larger portion of whom belonged to wealthy and fashionable circles.  Himself a member of one of the older families, and connected, both on his father’s and mother’s side, with eminent personages as well in his native city as in the State, Doctor Angier was naturally drawn into social life, which, spite of his increasing professional duties, he found time to enjoy.

It was past two o’clock when Doctor Angier made his appearance, his garments white with snow and his dark beard crusted with tiny icicles.  He found Mrs. Voss lying in swoon so deep that, but for the faintest perceptible heart-beat, he would have thought her dead.  Watching the young physician closely as he stood by the bedside of his wife, Mr. Voss was quick to perceive something unusual in his manner.  The professional poise and coolness for which he was noted were gone, and he showed a degree of excitement and uncertainty that alarmed the anxious husband.  What was its meaning?  Did it indicate apprehension for the condition of his patient, or—­something else?  A closer look into the young physician’s face sent a flash of suspicion through the mind of Mr. Voss, which was more than confirmed a moment afterward as the stale odor of wine floated to his nostrils.

“Were you at Mr. Birtwell’s to-night?” There was a thrill of anxious suspense in the tones of Mr. Voss as he grasped the physician’s arm and looked keenly at him.

“I was,” replied Doctor Angier.

“Did you see my son there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“At what time did you leave?”

“Less than an hour ago.  I had not retired when your summons came.”

“Was Archie there when you left?”

“No, I think not.”

“Are you sure about it?”

“Yes, very sure.  I remember now, quite distinctly, seeing him come down from the dressing-room with his hat in his hand and go through the hall toward the street door.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About an hour and a half; perhaps longer.”

A groan that could not be repressed broke from the father’s lips.

“Isn’t he at home?” asked the young physician, turning round quickly from the bed and betraying a sudden concern.

“No; and I am exceedingly anxious about him.”  The eyes of Mr. Voss were fixed intently on Doctor Angler, and he was reading every varying expression of his countenance.

“Doctor,” he said, laying his hand on the physician’s arm and speaking huskily, “I want you to answer me truly.  Had he taken much wine?”