But by-and-by these invitations ceased, and my neighbor’s pedestrian excursions up and down our road became less and less frequent.  Yet when I sent my maid, as I often did, to inquire after his health, the answer returned alternated only between two inflections,—­Mr Gray was always either “pretty well,” or “a little better today.”  But presently I noticed that my friend Dr. Peyton began to pay visits at my opposite neighbor’s, and of him I inquired concerning the little old man’s condition, and learned to my surprise and sorrow that his health and strength were rapidly failing, and his life surely and irrecoverably ebbing away.  It might be many long months, Dr. Peyton said, before the end, it might be only a few weeks, but he had seen many such cases, and knew that no human skill or tenderness had power to do more than to prolong the patient’s days upon earth by some brief space, and to make the weary hours of feebleness and prostration as pleasant and calm as possible.

When Dr Peyton told me this, it was late autumn, and the little old gentleman lived on in his weakness all through the snow-time and the dim bleak winter days.  But when the Spring came round once more, he rallied, and I used often to see him sitting up in his armchair at the open window, arrayed in his dressing-gown, and looking so cheerful and placid, that I could not forbear to nod to him and smile hopefully, as I stood by my garden gate in the soft warm sunshine, thinking that after all my opposite neighbor would soon be able to take his daily walks, and have tea with me again in his cosy little parlour.  But when I spoke of this to Dr. Peyton, he only shook his head incredulously, and murmured something about the flame burning brighter for a little while before going out altogether.  So the old gentleman lingered on until June, and still every time I sent to ask after his health returned the same old reply,—­his “kind regards to Miss Fairleigh, and he was a little better today.”  And thus matters remained on that identical evening of which I first spoke, when I sat at the bay window in my tiny drawing-room, and saw Dr. Peyton coming so soberly up the garden path.

“Dr Peyton,” said I, as I placed my most comfortable chair for him in the prettiest corner of the bay, “you are the very person I have been longing to see for the last half-hour!  I want to know how my neighbor Mr Gray is tonight.  I see his blinds are down, and I am afraid he may be worse.  Have you been there this evening?”

I paused abruptly, for my old friend looked very gravely at me, and I thought as his eyes rested for a moment on my face, that notwithstanding the twilight, I could discern traces of recent tears in them.

“Lizzie,” said he, very slowly, and his voice certainly trembled a little as he spoke, “I don’t think Mr Gray was ever so well in his life as he is tonight.  I have been with him for several hours.  He is dead.”