"
"Is Dr. Doddleson a man to whom you would intrust the life of your
dearest friend?"
"Most emphatically no!" cried the surgeon, growing red with excitement.
"Very well, Mr. Burkham; my dearest friend, a young lady--well, in plain
truth, the woman who was to have been my wife, and whom I love as it is
not the lot of every plighted wife to be loved--this dear girl has been
wasting away for the last two or three months under the influence of an
inscrutable malady, and Dr. Doddleson is the only man called to attend
her in all that time."
"A mistake!" said Mr. Burkham, gravely; "a very great mistake! Dr.
Doddleson lives in a fine square, and drives a fine carriage, and has a
reputation amongst the class I have spoken of; but he is about the last
man I would consult as to the health of any one dear to me."
"That is precisely the opinion which I formed after ten minutes'
conversation with him. Now, what I want from you, Mr. Burkham, is the
name and address of the man to whom I can intrust this dear girl's life."
"Let me see. There are so many men, you know, and great men. Is it a case
of consumption?"
"No, thank God!"
"Heart-disease, perhaps?"
"No; there is no organic disease. It is a languor--a wasting away."
Mr. Burkham suggested other diseases whereof the outward sign was languor
and wasting.
"No," replied Valentine; "according to Dr.
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