Journal 'Why,' said simple Gerard, you know of course that when this smash came, I was engaged to be married. That went by the board, with everything else. And now it's the only thing I care for, that it sets me right in that respect again. We shall have to divide with my cousins, of course -the poor old governor is out of it for ever, I am afraid-but I shall have enough left. You heard what was said just now. Their share is not more than fifty thousand apiece. That leaves a hundred and thirty-three thousand to the governor, and the old house and my mother's property, besides what is saved from the smash. We are as well off as ever, thanks to you, old fellow. We haven't as much money, of course, but we have more than we shall ever want to spend.' 'And so you're going to Paris to-morrow?' said Val, bringing the conversation round again. It was horrible to listen to Gerard's talk of certainty, but he must listen, to learn what he wanted to know. 'Yes,' said Gerard. I shall see my mother in the morning, and break the news to her, and see the governor, and then cross over.' 'Are they all staying there?' asked Val, pouring out a glass of wine, and pressing the neck of the bottle tightly against the glass, to prevent them from clanking in his agitated hands. 'Yes,' responded Gerard. "Constance has not been well lately, and Miss Jolly-that's her aunt, you know-insisted on going to Paris for a change.' 'Where are they?' asked Val. His voice veiled his own tremor and despair so ill, that he was almost amazed to see it unnoticed. go 'At the Grand Hotel,' Gerard answered; and being no further questioned, slipped into silence. Val sat on thorns a while, and then took leave. Once in the street, he ran until he found a hansom, and was driven to his chambers at full speed. His luggage was undisturbed. He bade his man carry it out to the hansom, and side by side with his valet, drove to St Katherine's Docks. The boat for Boulogne started that night at eleven-thirty, and was caught at the moment of departure. An eighteen hours' passage would land him at Boulogne at half-past five, in time for the six o'clock slow train for Paris. Even that gave him some faint hope of seeing Constance before she retired for the night. Gerard, starting on the morrow, would leave Charing Cross at half-past seven in the evening, would reach Paris at six in the morning, and would possibly go to bed to snatch a few hours' sleep. There loomed another chance. Half the gloomy night, Val paced the deck; and at last, with a greatcoat and a rug, lay down upon it, beneath the clouds and the solemn rifts between them sown with earnest stars. There was but half an hour to win by, and the thought kept him awake, in a panic of hope and fear. Slowly the stars faded; the intense depths of sky grew gray; the clouds, which had been gray, grew black; the bleak sunlight touched the sulky Channel billows. He rose again, and paced the deck, and looked at the Kentish coast, still in sight, and sickened for the journey's end. All day long, time crawled, and his veins fevered, and his watch seemed to stand still. But five o'clock saw Boulogne harbour; and then, whilst the hands of the watch suddenly ran with great rapidity, the boat seemed to crawl on the water. Half-past five, and the harbour scarcely seemed nearer. At six minutes to six they moored beside the Port, but on the wrong side for the railway station. Seven minutes later, Val stood upon the platform, and looked after the last carriage of the retreating train. He waited with racked patience for the next train. Perhaps after all Gerard might miss itmight somehow be delayed. The slow deliberate seconds, the leaden-footed minutes, the dreary, dreary hours, went by. The mail-train drew up at the platform, and he took his seat. Everything was silent, and the place seemed asleep, until the sudden flare of gas and the sudden rush of storming feet, told the arrival of the mail passengers. He would not look to see if Gerard were there or not. Fortune had been against him all along, and would be against him still. He set up the big collar of his travellingcoat, and pulled his cap down upon his eyes, to escape a possible recognition. The clamour and bustle died away on the platform. The signal sounded. The carriage answered with a jerk to the first motion of the engine, and at that instant a passenger opened the door of the compartment in which Val sat, and leaped in lightly. It was Gerard Lumby. (To be continued.) QUEER CASES. BY A SURGEON. IN TWO PARTS.-PART II. WHAT is more troublesome to surgeon or patient than a needle broken off short in the flesh unless it be two broken needles? Such articles travel' terribly. There is so little to lay hold of with the forceps, that any touch which does not effect its extraction is bound to give it an onward impulse. Thus it often happens that a medical practitioner can find no trace of the needle, when his assistance is sought, the patient having already pushed it completely in, in his efforts to withdraw it; and it may become a matter of doubt whether such a thing is really underneath the skin or not. To cut open the flesh on a mere chance of finding it, would be obviously unjustifiable; examination of the part by pressure and squeezing is nearly as bad, from the risk of making matters worse; so an ingenious plan has been devised for ascertaining whether a portion be really impacted or not. A powerful magnet is held upon that part of the body for a quarter of an hour, so as to influence the fragment; then a finely-hung polarised needle is suspended over it, when, if any iron be present, deflection will ensue. In Italy, a kind of ivory probe traversed by two wires has been used for the detection of foreign bodies of this nature in a deep wound, it being connected with an electric battery in such a way that directly the probe comes in contact with anything metallic, the circuit is completed, and its presence announced by the ringing of a bell ! Not many years ago, a remarkable experiment was tried at the Hôpital dos Lazaros, Sao Christovão, near Rio de Janeiro. A Brazilian physician pretended to have discovered that 'beriberi,' the mysterious and deadly malady of that country, half-dropsy, half-leprosy, was identical with the true Elephantiasis Græcorum, which the ancient exponents of the healing art used to cure by inoculations of snake-venom. An inmate of the hospital, knowing his state to be hopeless as it stood, consented to allow the trial to be made on his body. So a vigorous rattlesnake was accordingly brought to his bedside, and made to bite his swollen and hypertrophied hand, in the presence of a large number of doctors, both native and foreign. It was noted at the time that the reptile displayed great apparent reluctance to use its fangs, and it was not until after much irritation that it could be induced to strike. The punctures were inflicted near the base of the little finger; but the patient was not aware that he had been bitten till the bystanders told him, so lifeless was the part. For some hours, no results were apparent; the characteristic evidences of blood-poisoning nevertheless set in, and before night the man was a corpse. found, were the truth known, that have been prevented only by what we are accustomed profanely to term 'sheer luck' or 'chance.' I was once clinical pupil of a great London surgeon, one who even then was quoted universally as the greatest authority on the disease of which the case I am going to relate was an instance, and whose public appointments had long testified to the general recognition of his talents. In one ward of the hospital he had a patient who, he told us, was suffering from an abscess in the region of the hip; carefully demonstrating this to us, as he was wont to do, and explaining how such a disorder was to be diagnosed from other things with which a want of due precaution might cause it to be confounded. He then ordered me to get ready his instruments and chloroform by the bedside, as he proposed to incise the swelling when he had finished his round of visits in the hospital, and proceeded on his way; but before he returned, the man suddenly and mysteriously died, without a movement or a groan. There was a post-mortem examination of course; and it was then found that what had been mistaken for an abscess was in reality an aneurism, which had burst of itself internally, and caused instant The case excited a great deal of interest at death by loss of blood. An aneurism is a localthe time; but the experiment has never been ised dilatation of an artery, which goes on increas repeated; nor is there any reason why it should ing in size quite out of proportion to the bloodbe. The reception of the venom into a mass of vessel itself, so that the sac may be as big as an fibroid and degenerate tissue such as would orange-as it was in this case-or even larger, compose a leprous limb, would retard and might upon an artery no bigger than a goose-quill. altogether prevent its absorption into the current The chief danger in such a tumour lies in the of the circulation; while it was pure fancy to possibility of its bursting at any time, and attribute the snake's hesitation in biting to any- lance it would, of course, be almost necessarily thing connected with the disease. Many poison- immediately fatal. 'Gentlemen,' said our Proous reptiles will bear much annoyance, and even fessor, as the mystery was revealed, and the ill-treatment, before they can be persuaded to terrible position from which he had so narrowly use their fangs; and the case in question really escaped became apparent, the French have a presents no anomalies whatever beyond those to proverb that there is a special providence for be readily accounted for by the existing circum-drunkards and children. I say there is a special stances. But what a marvellous thing the venom providence for surgeons !' of a serpent is! In the whole range of pathology, probably nothing presents such an instance of small causes producing great effects. An infinitesimal quantity of a clear, apparently harmless fluid, introduced by a puncture no bigger than the prick of a pin, and with awful rapidity-a few minutes, it may be a strong man with the thews and sinews of a bull, becomes lifeless clay, already far on its way to decomposition. Perhaps the 'germs'-if such really exist-of deadly fevers and other maladies might be found to be just as insignificant in amount, could they be isolated; but it must be borne in mind that there is a certain period of latency or 'incubation' after their reception into the system, and that neither they nor almost any other known poison take effect with the same fearful celerity as the worst snake-venoms. The accidents, fortunate and unfortunate, that have occurred within the practice of celebrated surgeons about whose skill there can be no two opinions, would fill a volume. Dupuytren plunged a knife into a man's brain, and relieved him of an abscess in that situation, snatching him from the very jaws of death; yet he killed a patient whose shoulder-joint he had set, by lancing an aneurism in mistake for a simple gathering. And for every such accident which has happened, probably a hundred might be Nature is a wonderful surgeon; she commences a conservative process of repair directly after an injury. Never too late to mend,' is her motto. An old man, of the enormous age of one hundred and two, came under my notice with a broken hip-that commonest of fractures among elderly people, whose bones are dry and brittle, often caused by accidents so slight as tripping the foot in a loose fold of carpet. No active treatment could be adopted; mechanical appliances would have caused mortification of the skin in a subject enfeebled by senile decay; so he was placed on a water-bed and kept wholly at rest. He lay there for twelve months, suffering but little pain, and then peacefully passed away, having ended his long life in comparative comfort. After death, it was found that the fracture had actually healed, though naturally in a false position. A disagreeable little contre-temps happens sometimes to young practitioners who are called upon for the first time to set a dislocated jaw. It rarely happens twice to the same operator. When the jaw is 'put out,' the hands, to effect its reduc tion, must grasp it over the teeth as far back as possible, so as to exert force in the necessary direction on the angle. It is often no easy matter; but when it does slip in, it goes back so suddenly that the mouth shuts to with a snap like a rat-trap; and the young surgeon draws an inference that for the future it will be better to shield his fingers with cork or indiarubber in dealing with cases of this kind. It is a well-known fact that people whose limbs have been amputated tell you that they can feel their fingers and toes for a long time afterwardsfor years, sometimes-and will even describe pain and definite sensations as affecting certain joints of individual digits. This is readily understood when we remember that the brain is the only part of the body that feels, all sensations and impulses being conveyed to it from different parts by nerve-fibres. Feelings of pain, heat, cold, touch, and the functions of the special senses are telegraphed to it; and when the connecting nerve is divided, it may be some time before it learns to localise truly the seat of the sensation it appreciates. When we knock our 'funny-bones,' we experience a thrill in the little finger and inner border of the hand; the fact being that we have stimulated the bundle of telegraph wires -known as the ulnar nerve-which transmit sensations from that finger and part of the next, in the middle of its course, as it winds round the joint of the elbow. Some years ago, a nurse in one of our Metropolitan hospitals, mistaking one bottle for another in the dim dawn of a foggy morning, gave a poor woman a teacupful of concentrated carbolic acid, instead of black draught. The unfortunate patient drank half of it, and might have taken it all before discovering the mistake, had she not paused for breath. She died in great agony in a few minutes. Medical men were of course on the spot; but nothing could be done. There is no antidote to carbolic acid; and the mouth, throat, and—as we afterwards found-the stomach were so burnt that it was impossible to use the stomach-pump; they were in fact charred white, like a stick. It appears extraordinary that any one should drink such a quantity of a fluid so intensely corrosive as this acid without finding the mistake directly it touched the lips; but medicines, never agreeable, are usually swallowed as hastily as possible, and the patient does not stop to analyse any specially unpleasant sensations, when he knows that some such are inevitable. A curious parallel to this case was brought before me at sea, where a quartermaster went into the cabin of an officer on watch in the middle of the night, and seizing what he took to be a bottle of brandy, drank about six ounces of the contents. It was pure carbolic acid, and the man fell dead before he could summon assistance; but here, too, we may account for the large amount swallowed before the character of the liquid was recognised. He was consciously in the commission of a theft, and being, moreover, in danger of detection every moment, no doubt hurried to secure the brandy as rapidly as he could, the expected fluid being also of a burning nature to the palate and throat. In this last case, the carbolic acid, though not in its own characteristic bottle, was labelled 'Poison,' and was kept in the officer's washing-locker. The quartermaster had no doubt caught sight of the bottle there, and imagined it was stowed away for concealment. About a tablespoonful of this excellent disinfectant in the morning's bath is a great luxury in the tropics, not only allaying the maddening irritation of existent prickly-heat' and insect bites, but acting as a preventive to other eruptions, and offering a discouragement to mosquitoes and other pests of these regions. PLAYING THE WRONG CARD. IN FOUR CHAPTERS.--CONCLUSION. MR STYLES sat silent and stupefied, after the departure of his colleague. The pipe had gone out, and was not rekindled ; while the jug of beer, which had given point to the sarcasm of Charleyas he still called him in his reverie-remained The situation was untouched at his elbow. indeed a serious one for the unlucky Professor. He had been buoyed up by the prospect of this unexpected windfall; he had seen his way to taking larger halls, and 'working' larger towns for the next week or two at anyrate, by its help; and now it had utterly vanished, plunging him, as a matter of course, as deep into despair as its prospect had raised him into hope. He had sent the baggage-man and the properties on to Bingledon, where he was announced to open the next night; a deposit was paid on the large room at the Town Hall; bills by this time were circulated, his posters had been out for some days. And now all this trouble was lost; his outlay was forfeited. He could not open by himself. Even if a musician could be found in Bingledon, a thing hardly likely in so sedate and prim a town-such a musician as would suit him-what was he to do without Lucile? Her loss was utterly fatal to the speculation; in fact, her loss would be fatal to his business altogether. His slender resources would not, could not, hold out until he had replaced her. His properties would be seized, and he should be ruined. 'My health's a-going,' he muttered, as he reached this stage of his reverie; and I shall have to go to the workhouse. I little thought when I took old Ben Boley half-a-crown and a pound of tea last year, that I should so soon come to be where I saw him; but it's what I am coming to.' A tremendous knock at the street door inter rupted and startled him. He listened with a foreboding of some fresh evil; but ere he could determine who was the visitor, the door of his room was thrown open, and Mr Ignatius Hythe came hurriedly and excitedly in. 'Here's a pretty go!' exclaimed that gentleman, who could scarcely gasp out the words 'here's a pretty go! Where's that confounded foreign scoundrel? He has done it! A nice thing I have made of it by employing him.' 'What has he done? I should really be glad if you would tell me,' returned Styles; for he has been here talking in a crazy style about being revenged, and says he is actually the person we employed him to represent.' So he is!' cried Hythe. The vagabond was just the last man in the world we ought to have spoken to. He has nearly killed my brother, and has entirely ruined me.' 'What has he done?' exclaimed Styles, who was partly excited and partly frightened, as his visitor plunged frantically about the room. 'How has he killed your brother? How has he ruined-Now, come on. How shall we get on his you?' 'He has given my brother a shock from which he will never recover,' said Mr Ignatius; 'he has had a fit in consequence, and in his weak state it will be fatal. But he has actually seen his daughter! This abominable foreign musician, or whatever you choose to call him, is her uncle. He showed her to Maurice. He took her away with a threat that Maurice should never see her again. What is the consequence? My brother now knows that she is alive, while previously he only dreamed it. His conscience, which was morbid and troublesome enough before, is now irresistible. He means to telegraph for his solicitor to-morrow. He will alter his will in favour of this child, so that now we shall get nothing at all! If she had remained here, it would not have mattered, as he would have been content with providing for her, and compensating by kindness for any wrong he had done; but he regards what has now happened as a judgment, and that on account of it he is bound to mortify himself and all his friends.-And by Jove, sir, it is mortifying!' concluded Mr Hythe, with an abrupt change of tone. 'Well, what are you going to do? What do you want me to do?' asked Styles. 'He has entirely broken up my tour. I have billed my two next towns, paid a deposit on the hall at Bingledon; and here am I without a chance of giving the show, and hardly enough money left for my railway fare.' 'Oh! here's some money; take it; I want your help,' exclaimed Hythe, throwing a number of sovereigns on the table. With sparkling eyes, the Professor scrambled them up. Well, what help do you want from me?' he asked. 'We must find this fellow; we must get back the girl!' returned Mr Hythe. Confound him! He has no right to keep her from her parent. It's unnatural-it's atrocious. If I can get hold of her, I have not the least doubt, from what I know of my brother, that we can manage him very well. So we will follow this foreign scoundrel, and catch him if we can. I will claim the girl, and call in the police if necessary. Gad, if it's necessary, I will seize her by force, and you must back me up!' 'Oh!' ejaculated Styles, with a perceptible lengthening of his visage; I don't altogether like that idea. He's a dangerous fellow, and he carries the ugliest knife you ever saw out of a butcher's shop." 'I don't care for his knives or any of his foreign tricks!' exclaimed the desperate Ignatius. 'I'll knock him down with my stick, if we really come to a fight. But for the matter of that, I would just as soon be run through the body as not, if we don't get the girl back.' "Ah! but I wouldn't,' said the cautious Styles; and I give you fair warning that while I will do all I can in the way of persuasion, or will back you up in case we fetch the police, if it comes to fighting-keep me out!' 'I'll do that part of the business,' said his resolute visitor. 'Rather than not keep my brother from altering his will, I would face twenty foreigners with twenty knives apiece. trail?' 'That won't be very difficult to begin with, at anyrate,' said Styles. 'He must have gone by rail, if he has gone at all; and a little gossiping place like this has one advantage-everybody knows everybody; and I'll defy such conspicuous characters as Charley and Lucile to take tickets without their being known and their destination remembered. We are right for the first stage, I am certain.' Then on with your coat, and off we go,' continued Hythe. If there's a train any time tonight in the direction they have taken, we follow.' 'But about Bingledon?'- began Styles. 'Let Bingledon shift for itself! The people at Bingledon can do without you, I daresay. Telegraph in the morning, or do what you like; but let us lose no time now. Thus urged, Mr Styles had no option but to comply. The sovereigns that had been so lavishly thrust upon him softened in a wonderful way his feelings regarding the disappointment of the good people of Bingledon. In a few minutes they had left the house, and were at the railway station, where the correctness of Mr Styles's judgment was at once made manifest. The clerk and porter each recollected the depar ture of Mr Joinville, as they called him, accompanied by Mademoiselle Tuscano, and recollected also that they had taken tickets for a station named Bushfield. The night-mail, due in about an hour and a half, stopped at that station. 'He will change there, and go across to Stumpley, which is on the South-western line,' said Hythe. He means to go on to Southampton, and take a steamer for America; that's his game.' 'But I don't think he has enough money'said Styles. 'Oh! there's never any telling with these foreigners,' interrupted Hythe. 'He may have been screwing and saving up ever since he has been with you.' Mr Styles made no reply to this suggestion; but by an expressive frown and shake of the head, he might have been of opinion that Charley,' as he still called him, was not likely to have saved much while in his company. To follow their journeyings in quest of the fugitives would only weary the reader. Suffice it, therefore, to note that Mr Hythe and Styles at length found themselves-en route for Southampton-at Bushfield Junction. So The junction was at a very lonely spot; a straggling village was the nearest approach to a town for several miles; while out on the bare downs beyond, or in the narrow dull lanes which served for byroads, there were but few cottages to be seen, and still fewer buildings which deserved the name of farmhouses. there was little to invite any one to go strolling about in the quiet light of the sinking sun, which was now just visible above the low hills which bounded the view to the west. Thus argued Styles; but Hythe was of a different opinion. Luckily, however, he did not deem it necessary to insist on the Professor accompanying him in his ramble; and so, comfortably ensconced in the village inn, with the London paper to Journal read, his legs resting on the long seat, the oft deferred meal at last served, Styles awaited his companion's return without impatience. Mr Hythe, restless as before, soon got beyond the limits of the village, and crossed the wide common which lies immediately beyond. He then turned to retrace his steps, as twilight had set in; and the occasional barking of dogs reminded him that it might be unpleasant to find his way back after dark. Passing one of the few houses which were of somewhat better grade than the poorest labourers' cottages, he saw a woman standing at the door, who looked so earnestly at him, that he thought she was about to speak. Slackening his pace, he looked fixedly at her in turn. The woman noticing it, said apologetically, and dropping a rustic courtesy, as she spoke: 'I thought, sir, you might be Dr Camm, or some one from him; that's what I was looking out for, sir.' I am sorry you are disappointed,' replied Hythe. 'I hope you have no serious cause for wishing to see a doctor.' 'Indeed, I have, sir,' said the woman; and I am afraid Davy-that's my boy, sir-hasn't found Dr Camm at home, he has been so long gone.' 'I have been a doctor, although now retired from the profession,' said Hythe. 'If I can be of any service till your own doctor comes' 'You are very kind, sir,' replied the woman, as Hythe paused; and if you would not mind looking in, I should be a great deal easier in my mind. We have had a gentleman and little girl staying here for a day or two.' Eh? a gentleman and little girl!' repeated Hythe, roused into the keenest attention at once. 'Yes, sir,' she continued. "They are foreigners, I think; and he is mortal bad to-day. I think he is going out of his mind, as well as being dreadful ill, sir; and the little girl is so frightened.' 'Where is he?' exclaimed Hythe, in a decided tone. I will see him at once.' 'I don't know, sir,' said the woman hesitatingly, 'whether he has got any money; and we are too poor' Oh! that is of no consequence,' returned Hythe, with a readiness which at once impressed the poor woman with a sense of his generosity. 'Just show me to his room.' The woman turned, and led the stranger into the front-room, which, meanly furnished as it was, was evidently the best parlour of the house. A low moaning sound was audible as he entered. That is the poor gentleman, sir,' she continued. 'He is in the back-room. I will go and see if he is sensible. This gentleman is a doctor, my dear, and will cure your uncle.' This last phrase was addressed to a girl who sat cowering and shy in the darkest corner of the apartment. Hythe had not seen her until he followed the direction of the woman's eyes. Ah! it's all right! I have her now,' was his mental ejaculation. The girl looked up at him without any recognition in her eyes.-"This is a strange place for you, my dear,' said Hythe. 'I know from the landlady that you have not been here long. Were you about to settle in this village?' 'No; I think not, sir,' replied the girl. 'I hardly know what Mr Charles was going to do; I think he meant to go back to America.' 'I was not far out in my guess, then,' thought Hythe. The return of the woman stopped further conversation; and he accompanied her to the bedroom, where, restlessly turning on his couch, lay the man whom he had sought. As would have been the case with every other doctor, personal feelings, likings and dislikings, all ideas of danger to himself from this man, were instantly banished, and Hythe saw in him only a suffering patient. His brain is dreadfully affected, and he is in great danger,' said he to the landlady presently. I think it is more than probable that he will die here.' 'O dear me deary me!' exclaimed the poor soul, wringing her hands. 'Whatever shall we do? My husband has been out of work these four weeks with a bad hand.' 'I will wait until I see your local doctor,' continued Hythe; 'and will ask him to send a nurse down to assist you. As it strangely happens that I know this man, I will be responsible for all expenses, and will take the girl to her friends. There is a person waiting for me at the Half Moon Inn at Bushfield, to whom the little girl is well known. Can you send for him?' "O yes, sir!' exclaimed the woman, whose face had brightened considerably. I do think I hear our Davy outside now. He will go.' She was correct. Davy came in with the news that he had been waiting until Dr Camm returned; that he had seen that gentleman, who had promised to follow him in a quarter of an hour. Stimulated by the promise of a shilling, Davy lost no time in hurrying back to Bushfield as fast as his heavy, clay-clogged boots would carry him, bearing Mr Hythe's card, with a request for the immediate attendance of Styles. The doctor arrived first, and promptly coincided with the opinion already expressed by Hythe as to the fatal nature of the illness. He readily agreed to find a nurse, and took charge of a few pounds which Hythe left in his hands for current expenses. As he did so, a little bustle was heard in the parlour, followed by an exclamation of delight and surprise from the girl. With a word of apology for his abruptness, Hythe hurried to the room, where he saw, as he expected, the girl clinging round Styles's neck in a transport of delight. 'Have you come to take me back?' said the child. 'I do not love Mr Charles as I love you.' (She had been taught to speak of him always as Mr Charles' in the company.) 'He does not love me at all. Do not send me away again!' 'No, Lucile, never; you shall never leave me again,' said Styles; that is,' he added, as he recollected the claims of Mr Maurice Hythe, 'you shall never go anywhere but where you please, and where you are happy.-She always took to me, you know,' he continued in a low tone to Mr Hythe. We have been together these two years, and I always considered her as my daughter.' The girl would not part from Styles; and so, holding his hand, she presently set out to walk to the junction, Hythe following closely, after a final consultation with the surgeon, who |