Oh! doctor, may you never feel as I do now! May you on your death-bed have no dread as I have, as to the fate of those you will leave behind you!" Doctor Thorne felt that he could not say much in answer to this.

The future fate of Louis Scatcherd was, he could not but own to himself, greatly to be dreaded.

What good, what happiness, could be presaged for such a one as he was?
What comfort could he offer to the father?
And then he was called on to compare, as it were, the prospects of this unfortunate with those of his own darling; to contrast all that was murky, foul, and disheartening, with all that was perfect--for to him she was all but perfect; to liken Louis Scatcherd to the angel who brightened his own hearthstone.

How could he answer to such an appeal?
He said nothing; but merely tightened his grasp of the other's hand, to signify that he would do, as best he could, all that was asked of him.

Sir Roger looked up sadly into the doctor's face, as though expecting some word of consolation.