He was a gray-bearded man, with a reddish face, and he looked singularly at Rhoda the first moment he beheld her.

Mrs.Lodge told him her errand; and then with words of self-disparagement he examined her arm.
'Medicine can't cure it,' he said promptly.

''Tis the work of an enemy.' Rhoda shrank into herself, and drew back.
'An enemy?
What enemy ?' asked Mrs.Lodge.
He shook his head.

'That's best known to yourself,' he said.

'If you like, I can show the person to you, though I shall not myself know who it is.