“What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. The walls of the room were lined with shelves, on which were glass jars, retorts, countless bottles and many appliances of surgical science. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. “I will send you a copy,” Mr. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her.
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