The disease had taken on a form that usually baffles the skill of our most eminent physicians, and Dr.Hillhouse saw little chance of anything but a fatal termination.

He could do nothing except to palliate as far as possible the patient's intense suffering and endeavor to check farther complications.

But he saw little to give encouragement.
Mr.Ridley, with pale, anxious face, and eyes in which, were pictured the unutterable anguish of his soul, watched Dr.Hillhouse as he sat by his wife's bedside with an eager interest and suspense that was painful to see.

He followed him when he left the room, and his hand closed on his arm with a spasm as the door shut behind them.
"How is she, doctor ?" he asked, in a hoarse, panting whisper.
"She is very sick, Mr.Ridley," replied Dr.Hillhouse.

"It would be wrong to deceive you." The pale, haggard face of Mr.Ridley grew whiter.
"Oh, doctor," he gasped, "can nothing be done ?" "I think we had better call in another physician," replied the doctor.
"In the multitude of counselors there is wisdom.