“Very good.  We shall have some news worth hearing, to tell each other to-morrow.  Don’t go yet!  I have a word to say to you.  You appeared to think, yesterday, that our experiment with the opium was not likely to be viewed very favourably by some of my friends.  You were quite right.  I call old Gabriel Betteredge one of my friends; and you will be amused to hear that he protested strongly when I saw him yesterday.  ’You have done a wonderful number of foolish things in the course of your life, Mr. Franklin, but this tops them all!’ There is Betteredge’s opinion!  You will make allowance for his prejudices, I am sure, if you and he happen to meet?”

I left Mr. Blake, to go my rounds among my patients; feeling the better and the happier even for the short interview that I had had with him.

What is the secret of the attraction that there is for me in this man?  Does it only mean that I feel the contrast between the frankly kind manner in which he has allowed me to become acquainted with him, and the merciless dislike and distrust with which I am met by other people?  Or is there really something in him which answers to the yearning that I have for a little human sympathy—­the yearning, which has survived the solitude and persecution of many years; which seems to grow keener and keener, as the time comes nearer and nearer when I shall endure and feel no more?  How useless to ask these questions!  Mr. Blake has given me a new interest in life.  Let that be enough, without seeking to know what the new interest is.

June 17th.—­Before breakfast, this morning, Mr. Candy informed me that he was going away for a fortnight, on a visit to a friend in the south of England.  He gave me as many special directions, poor fellow, about the patients, as if he still had the large practice which he possessed before he was taken ill.  The practice is worth little enough now!  Other doctors have superseded him; and nobody who can help it will employ me.

It is perhaps fortunate that he is to be away just at this time.  He would have been mortified if I had not informed him of the experiment which I am going to try with Mr. Blake.  And I hardly know what undesirable results might not have happened, if I had taken him into my confidence.  Better as it is.  Unquestionably, better as it is.

The post brought me Miss Verinder’s answer, after Mr. Candy had left the house.

A charming letter!  It gives me the highest opinion of her.  There is no attempt to conceal the interest that she feels in our proceedings.  She tells me, in the prettiest manner, that my letter has satisfied her of Mr. Blake’s innocence, without the slightest need (so far as she is concerned) of putting my assertion to the proof.  She even upbraids herself—­most undeservedly, poor thing!—­for not having divined at the time what the true solution of the mystery might really be.  The motive underlying all this proceeds evidently from something more than