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So deep was his painful revery that he did not hear the entrance
of Dr. Barnes and Mr. Kemble. The latter laid a hand upon his
shoulder and said kindly, "Hobart, my friend, it is just as I told
you it would be. Helen needs you and wishes to see you."
Martine started up, exclaiming, "He must have remembered her."
Mr. Kemble shook his head. "No, Hobart," said the doctor, "she was
as much of a stranger to him as you were. There were, of course,
grounds for your expectation and hers also, but we prosaic
physiologists have some reason for our doubtings as well as you
for your beliefs. It's going to be a question of time with Nichol.
How are you yourself? Ah, I see," he added, with his finger on his
patient's pulse. "With you it's going to be a question of tonics."
"Yes, I admit that," Martine replied, "but perhaps of tonics other
than those you have in mind. You said, sir [to Mr. Kemble], that
Helen wished to see me?"
"Yes, when you feel well enough."
"I trust you will make yourselves at home," said Martine, hastily
preparing to go out.


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