"Excuse me, sir, I will not detain you a minute." She ran from the room and upstairs to her room, her knees shaking beneath her.

Heaven grant that the Doctor was at home! She agitated her window-blind violently and drew it down to the third pane.
"You are wanted--urgent," was the message it conveyed.
Yes, he was at home.

"I come, instantly," answered her lover's window; and in less than a minute, to her infinite relief, the Doctor emerged from his front doorway and came bustling up the street almost at a trot.
She ran down and admitted him.

In her face he read instantly that something serious had happened; something serious if not catastrophical: but with finger on lip she enjoined silence and led the way to the parlour.
"This gentleman has just arrived from Plymouth, with serious news of the Major." "Serious?
He is not ill, I trust ?" "Worse," said Mr.Basket.
"But first," interposed Miss Marty, "you must read this letter.
Yes, yes!"-- blushing hotly, she thrust it into the Doctor's unresisting hands--"you have the right.

Forgive me if I seem indecorous: but in such a situation you only can help me." "Eh?
Oh, certainly--h'm, h'm!--" The Doctor adjusted his glasses and began to read in a low mumbling voice.