There had been high doings indeed in Marlboro’ Street that miserable week.  My grandfather took to his bed of a Saturday afternoon, and bade me go down to Mr. Aikman’s, the bookseller, and fetch him the latest books and plays.  That night I became so alarmed that I sent Diomedes for Dr. Leiden, who remained the night through.  Sunday was well gone before the news reached York Street, when my Aunt Caroline came hurrying over in her chair, and my uncle on foot.  They brushed past Scipio at the door, and were pushing up the long flight when they were stopped on the landing by Dr. Leiden.

“How is my father, sir?” Grafton cried, “and why was I not informed at once of his illness?  I must see him.”

“Your vater can see no one, Mr. Carvel,” said the doctor, quietly.

“What,” says my uncle, “you dare to refuse me?”

“Not so lout, I bray you,” says the doctor; “I tare any ting vere life is concerned.”

“But I will see him,” says Grafton, in a sort of helpless rage, for the doctor’s manner baffled him.  “I will see him before he dies, and no man alive shall say me nay.”

Then my Aunt Caroline gathered up her skirt, and made shift to pass the doctor.

“I have come to nurse him,” said she, imperiously, and, turning to where I stood near, she added:  “Bid a servant fetch from York Street what I shall have need of.”

The doctor smiled, but stood firm.  He cared little for aught in heaven or earth, did Dr. Leiden, and nothing whatever for Mr. and Mrs. Grafton Carvel.

“I peg you, matam, do not disturp yourself,” said he.  “Mr. Carvel is aply attended by an excellent voman, Mrs. Villis, and he has no neet of you.”

“What,” cried my aunt; “this is too much, sir, that I am thrust out of my father-in-law’s house, and my place taken by a menial.  That woman able!” she fumed, dropping suddenly her cloak of dignity; “Mr. Carvel’s charity is all that keeps her here.”

Then my uncle drew himself up.  “Dr. Leiden,” says he, “kindly oblige me by leaving my father’s house, and consider your services here at an end.  And Richard,” he goes on to me, “send my compliments to Dr. Drake, and request him to come at once.”

I was stepping forward to say that I would do nothing of the kind, when the doctor stopped me by a signal, as much as to say that the quarrel was wide enough without me.  He stood with his back against the great arched window flooded with the yellow light of the setting sun, a little black figure in high relief, with a face of parchment.  And he took a pinch of snuff before he spoke.

“I am here py Mr. Carvel’s orters, sir,” said he, “and py tose alone vill I leaf.”