ONE WIFE’S HUSBAND. 
349 
understood, even by those whose opinion 
you value most, but sometimes you are able 
to make them admit that you were right. 
( You are generous and will succeed in life. 
You are a clever organizer. You do not lack 
application, and are inclined to think more 
of others than of yourself. You are capable 
of great self-sacrifice when it is necessary. 
This is due to the nobility of your character. 
You have a great love of home life, and you 
are of an affectionate nature. 7 ’ 
But what did it all bring him, what had 
it done for him, what had he gained by it all 
but misery and loneliness ? 
Well, he had done, was doing, his duty. 
Only he was doing it alone. 
He crept into bed and wept unashamed. 
He could do that now, for now, indeed, he 
was alone. 
On the following morning Osmond went to 
the doctor’s much as a condemned man may 
go to the last court of appeal to protest 
against his sentence. Possessed by a sort 
of light-headed excitement, he did not notice 
that the brass plate on the door bore another 
name. He looked for the number of the 
house, no more, was shown in, and waited 
his turn, still in that state of haziness that 
was akin to mental blindness. 
Only when he entered to the doctor did 
he realize that he was not to deal with Warr. 
'ilie man who received him was a very different 
person from the tall, stooping, jerky doctor 
who had pronounced his doom a year ago. 
'I 'his man was big and broad, and his face 
was keener, * ivory white, decisive. One 
glance told him the state Osmond was in, 
and he dealt with him carefully. 
“ Dr. Warr gave up the practice a year 
ago,” he explained, quietly, in reply to 
Osmond’s rather confused inquiry. 
“ A year ago ! I must have been one of 
his last patients, last and unluckiest,” said 
Osmond. 
The new man — his name was Wilton- 
looked at him keenly, a new interest on his 
face. 
“ Yes ? ” he said. “ What was your 
trouble ? You never came again.” 
“It was no good coming. Dr. Warr was 
candid. He said he wouldn’t take money 
for drugs that wouldn’t do me any good. 
It was my heart — gone to pieces. He said 
I couldn’t live more than a year or two,” 
Osmond gulped. 
Wilton’s face grew grave. 
“ I will examine you again,” he said. 
He did so. Osmond saw that there was 
no tremor in this man’s hands ; they were 
firm, skilful, gentle with the confident 
gentleness of strength under perfect control, 
like white steel. His face grew graver and 
graver, but, strangely, something in his 
eyes thrilled Osmond with a warm, unex- 
pected sense of comfort. 
lie completed his examination, and signed 
to Osmond to sit down. Just as Warr had 
done, so this man refrained for a few moments 
from speaking, 
Osmond could not endure it. 
“ Tell me the truth, doctor,” he said. 
“ Whatever it is, it can’t hurt me like it did 
before. I’ve made my arrangements” — a 
note of triumph came into his voice now and 
his eyes blazed suddenly — “ I’ve practically 
provided for my people, and nothing matters 
much now.” 
“ You’ve had a struggle to do that ? ” asked 
the doctor. 
“ Struggle ! I’ve lived a dog’s life for a 
year ! Struggle, doctor 1 It’s been nothing but 
struggle. I’ve lost my friends, I’ve lost my 
home — as far as happiness goes — I’ve lost 
everything for the sake of what I’ve hoarded 
up and hoarded up. Struggle ” His 
voice broke. 
The doctor spoke sharply. 
“ Compose yourself. Man, you’re as sound 
as a bell 1 There’s no reason why you 
shouldn’t live to seventy ! ” 
Osmond literally leaped from his chair, his 
eves starting. 
" “ What’s that ? ” 
“ Quietly, my friend ” Those hands of 
steel caught and gripped the shaking hands of 
the reprieved man. “ Quietly. I say. Listen 
— you are in excellent health — -you have 
nothing to fear — you should live to the age 
of seventy.” 
He dropped the words, clearly, slowly, 
deliberately, smiling gravely at Osmond. 
“ But — but Dr. Warr ! ” stammered 
Osmond. 
Wilton looked very serious. 
“ 1 must tell you that he was mistaken 
— gravely mistaken. I happen to know that 
at about the time you came to see him he 
himself was in serious ill-health. He was 
suffering from the results of excessive — over- 
work.” (“ Overwork ” was kinder than 
“ drugs.”) “ I doubt very much if he really 
understood what he was telling you. He 
meant well — kindly — I am sure of that. 1 
knew him well, and 1 tell you these things 
because I know that if he were able he would 
be the first to explain to you himself. He 
died ten months ago. In his time he did 
