There was something in Master Gridley’s look that made the Doctor feel a little nervous; he did not know just what was coming.

Master Gridley took out his great Hippocrates, the edition of Foesius, and opened to the place.  He turned so as to face the Doctor, and read the famous Oath aloud, Englishing it as he went along.  When he came to these words which follow, he pronounced them very slowly and with special emphasis.

“My life shall be pure and holy.”

“Into whatever house I enter, I will go for the good of the patient: 

“I will abstain from inflicting any voluntary injury, and from leading away any, whether man or woman, bond or free.”

The Doctor changed color as he listened, and the moisture broke out on his forehead.

Master Gridley saw it, and followed up his advantage.  “Dr. Fordyce Hurlbut, are you not in danger of violating the sanctities of your honorable calling, and leading astray a young person committed to your sacred keeping?”

While saying these words, Master Gridley looked full upon him, with a face so charged with grave meaning, so impressed with the gravity of his warning accents, that the Doctor felt as if he were before some dread tribunal, and remained silent.  He was a member of the Rev. Mr. Stoker’s church, and the words he had just listened to were those of a sinful old heathen who had never heard a sermon in his life; but they stung him, for all that, as the parable of the prophet stung the royal transgressor.

He spoke at length, for the plain honest words had touched the right spring of consciousness at the right moment; not too early, for he now saw whither he was tending,—­not too late, for he was not yet in the inner spirals of the passion which whirls men and women to their doom in ever-narrowing coils, that will not unwind at the command of God or man.

He spoke as one who is humbled by self-accusation, yet in a manly way, as became his honorable and truthful character.

“Master Gridley,” he said, “I stand convicted before you.  I know too well what you are thinking of.  It is true, I cannot continue my attendance on Myrtle—­on Miss Hazard, for you mean her—­without peril to both of us.  She is not herself.  God forbid that I should cease to be myself!  I have been thinking of a summer tour, and I will at once set out upon it, and leave this patient in my father’s hands.  I think he will find strength to visit her under the circumstances.”

The Doctor went off the next morning without saying a word to Myrtle Hazard, and his father made the customary visit in his place.

That night the spirit tare her, as may well be supposed, and so the second night.  But there was no help for it:  her doctor was gone, and the old physician, with great effort, came instead, sat by her, spoke kindly to her, left wise directions to her attendants, and above all assured them that, if they would have a little patience, they would see all this storm blow over.