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The doctor answered seriously."No, indeed.That is only the second duty.Our first duty is invariably to respect the confidence of our patients.However," he resumed in his easier tone, "I happen to have seen a patient to-day, under circumstances which the rules of professional honor do not forbid me to mention.I don't know, Mrs.Eyrecourt, whether you will quite like to be introduced to the scene of the story.The scene is in a madhouse."Mrs.Eyrecourt burst out with a coquettish little scream, and shook her fan at the doctor."No horrors!" she cried."The bare idea of a madhouse distracts me with terror.Oh, fie, fie! Iwon't listen to you--I won't look at you--I positively refuse to be frightened out of my wits.Matilda! wheel me away to the furthest end of the room.My vivid imagination, Father Benwell, is my rock ahead in life.I declare I can _smell_ the odious madhouse.Go straight to the window, Matilda; I want to bury my nose among the flowers."Sir John, upon this, spoke for the first time.His language consisted entirely of beginnings of sentences, mutely completed by a smile."Upon my word, you know.Eh, Doctor Wybrow? A man of your experience.Horrors in madhouses.A lady in delicate health.

No, really.Upon my honor, now, I cannot.Something funny, oh yes.But such a subject, oh no."He rose to leave us.Dr.Wybrow gently stopped him."I had a motive, Sir John," he said, "but I won't trouble you with needless explanations.There is a person, unknown to me, whom Iwant to discover.You are a great deal in society when you are in London.May I ask if you have ever met with a gentleman named Winterfield?"I have always considered the power of self-control as one of the strongest points in my character.For the future I shall be more humble.When I heard that name, my surprise so completely mastered me that I sat self-betrayed to Dr.Wybrow as the man who could answer his question.

In the meanwhile, Sir John took his time to consider, and discovered that he had never heard of a person named Winterfield.

Having acknowledged his ignorance, in his own eloquent language, he drifted away to the window-box in the next room, and gravely contemplated Mrs.Eyrecourt, with her nose buried in flowers.

The doctor turned to me."Am I wrong, Father Benwell, in supposing that I had better have addressed myself to _you?"_I admitted that I knew a gentleman named Winterfield.

Dr.Wybrow got up directly."Have you a few minutes to spare?" he asked.It is needless to say that I was at the doctor's disposal.

"My house is close by, and my carriage is at the door," he resumed."When you feel inclined to say good-by to our friend Mrs.Eyrecourt, I have something to say to you which I think you ought to know."We took our departure at once.Mrs.Eyrecourt (leaving some of the color of her nose among the flowers) patted me encouragingly with her fan, and told the doctor that he was forgiven, on the understanding that he would "never do it again." In five minutes more we were in Dr.Wybrow's study.

My watch tells me that I cannot hope to finish this letter by post time.Accept what I have written thus far--and be assured that the conclusion of my report shall follow a day later.

II.

The doctor began cautiously."Winterfield is not a very common name," he said."But it may not be amiss, Father Benwell, to discover, if we can, whether _your_ Winterfield is the man of whom I am in search.Do you only know him by name? or are you a friend of his?"I answered, of course, that I was a friend.

Dr.Wybrow went on."Will you pardon me if I venture on an indiscreet question? When you are acquainted with the circumstances, I am sure you will understand and excuse me.Are you aware of any--what shall I call it?--any romantic incident in Mr.Winterfield's past life?"This time--feeling myself, in all probability, on the brink of discovery--I was careful to preserve my composure.I said, quietly: "Some such incident as you describe has occurred in Mr.

Winterfield's past life." There I stopped discreetly, and looked as if I knew all about it.

The doctor showed no curiosity to hear more."My object," he went on, "was merely to be reasonably sure that I was speaking to the right person, in speaking to you.I may now tell you that I have no personal interest in trying to discover Mr.Winterfield; Ionly act as the representative of an old friend of mine.He is the proprietor of a private asylum at Sandsworth--a man whose integrity is beyond dispute, or he would not be my friend.You understand my motive in saying this?"Proprietors of private asylums are, in these days, the objects of very general distrust in England.I understood the doctor's motive perfectly.

He proceeded."Yesterday evening, my friend called upon me, and said that he had a remarkable case in his house, which he believed would interest me.The person to whom he alluded was a French boy, whose mental powers had been imperfectly developed from his childhood.The mischief had been aggravated, when he was about thirteen years old, by a serious fright.When he was placed in my asylum, he was not idiotic, and not dangerously mad--it was a case (not to use technical language) of deficient intelligence, tending sometimes toward acts of unreasoning mischief and petty theft, but never approaching to acts of downright violence.My friend was especially interested in the lad--won his confidence and affection by acts of kindness--and so improved his bodily health as to justify some hope of also improving the state of his mind, when a misfortune occurred which has altered the whole prospect.The poor creature has fallen ill of a fever, and the fever has developed to typhus.So far, there has been little to interest you--I am coming to a remarkable event at last.At the stage of the fever when delirium usually occurs in patients of sound mind, this crazy French boy has become perfectly sane and reasonable!"I looked at him, when he made this amazing assertion, with a momentary doubt of his being in earnest.Doctor Wybrow understood me.