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THE doctors could do no more for the Dowager Lady Berrick.When the medical advisers of a lady who has reached seventy years of age recommend the mildclimate of the South of France, they mean in plain language that they have arrived at the end of theirresources. Her ladyship gave the mild climate a fair trial, and then decided (as she herself expressedit) to die at home. Traveling slowly, she had reached Paris at the date when I last heard of her. Itwas then the beginning of November. A week later, I met with her nephew, Lewis Romayne, at theclub. What brings you to London at this time of year? I asked. The fatality that pursues me, he answered grimly. I am one of the unluckiest men living. He was thirty years old; he was not married; he was the enviable possessor of the fine old countryseat, called Vange Abbey; he had no poor relations; and he was one of the handsomest men inEngland. When I add that I am, myself, a retired army officer, with a wretched income, adisagreeable wife, four ugly children, and a burden of fifty years on my back, no one will besurprised to hear that I answered Romayne, with bitter sincerity, in these words: I wish to heaven I could change places with you! I wish to heaven you could! he burst out, with equal sincerity on his side. Read that. He handed me a letter addressed to him by the traveling medical attendant of Lady Berrick. Afterresting in Paris, the patient had continued her homeward journey as far as Boulogne. In hersuffering condition, she was liable to sudden fits of caprice. An insurmountable horror of theChannel passage had got possession of her; she positively refused to be taken on board thesteamboat. In this difficulty, the lady who held the post of her companion had ventured on asuggestion. Would Lady Berrick consent to make the Channel passage if her nephew came toBoulogne expressly to accompany her on the voyage? The reply had been so immediately favorable, that the doctor lost no time in communicating with Mr. Lewis Romayne. This was the substance ofthe letter.It was needless to ask any more questions-Romayne was plainly on his way to Boulogne. I gavehim some useful information. Try the oysters, I said, at the restaurant on the pier. He never even thanked me. He was thinking entirely of himsel

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