of sky disclosed by the window, and his hands languidly folded on his knees. The Doctor examined him with a look half amused, half perplexed. But at last his face grew quite sober, and he contracted his brow. He placed his hand on Mason's arm and shook it gently, while Ferdinand met his gaze. The Doctor frowned, and, as he did so, his companion's mouth expanded into a placid smile. "If you don't get well," said Knight,—"if you don't get well—" and he paused.
"What will be the consequences?" asked Ferdinand, still smiling.
"I shall hate you," said Knight, half smiling, too.
Mason broke into a laugh. "What shall I care for that?"
"I shall tell people that you were a poor, spiritless fellow,—that you are no loss."
"I give you leave," said Ferdinand.
The Doctor got up. "I don't like obstinate patients," he said.
Ferdinand burst into a long, loud laugh, which ended in a fit of coughing.
"I'm getting too amusing," said Knight; "I must go."
"Nay, laugh and grow fat," cried Ferdinand. "I promise to get well." But that evening, at least, he was no better, as it turned out, for his momentary exhilaration. Before turning in for the night, he
