“Are you the doctor—­Dr. Letsom?”

Looking in the direction of the sound, the doctor saw a tall, distinguished-looking man, wrapped in a traveling cloak—­a man whose face and manner indicated at once that he belonged to the upper ranks of society.  Dr. Stephen Letsom was quick to recognize that fact.

“I am the doctor,” he replied, quietly.

“Then for Heaven’s sake, help me!  I am almost mad.  My wife has been suddenly taken ill, and I have been to the hotel, where they tell me they have not a room in which they can lodge her.  The thing is incredible.  You must help me.”

“I will do what I can,” returned the doctor.

Had fortune indeed knocked at his door at last?

He went to the carriage-door, and, looking inside, saw a lady, young and beautiful, who stretched out her hands to him, as though appealing for help.

“I am very ill,” she moaned, feebly.

Dr. Letsom guessed so much from her pallid face and shadowed eyes.

“What is the matter with your wife?” he asked of the strange gentleman, who bent down and whispered something that made Dr. Letsom himself look anxious.

“Now doctor,” said the traveler, “it is useless to raise objections You see how the matter stands; my wife must stop here.  The hotel is full of visitors—­people who are here for the races.  There is nowhere else for her to go—­she must stay here.”

“At my house?” interrogated the doctor.  “It is impossible.”

“Why?” asked the stranger, quickly.

“Because I am not married—­I have no wife, no sister.”

“But you have women-servants, surely?” was the hasty rejoinder.

“Only one, and she is not over-clever.”

“You can get more.  My wife must have help.  Send all over the place—­get the best nurses, the best help possible.  Do not study expense.  I will make you a rich man for life if you will only help me now.”

“I will help you,” said Dr. Letsom.

For a moment his thoughts flew to the green grave under the stars.  Riches would come too late, after all; they could not bring back life to the dead.

“Wait one moment,” said the doctor; and he hastened to rouse his housekeeper, who, curious and interested, exerted herself so as to satisfy even the stranger.

Then the strange lady, all white and trembling, was helped down from the parlor into the doctor’s shabby little parlor.

“Am I going to die?” she asked, raising her large blue eyes to the doctor’s face.

“Certainly not,” he replied, promptly; “you must not think of dying.”

“But I am very ill; and last night I dreamed that I was dead.”

“Have you any brandy in the house?” asked the traveler.  “See how my wife trembles.”

Alas for the poor doctor!  There was neither brandy nor wine.  With an impatient murmur, the stranger called the postilion and sent him to the Castle arms with such an order as made Mrs. Galbraith open her eyes in wonder.  Than, without seeming to notice the doctor or his servant, he flung himself on his knees by the lady’s side, and kissed the beautiful white face and colorless lips.