Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: Chapter V A Pitched Battle. Sik John had not been long home, when the sound of fast- approaching wheels made him spring to his feet, and harry to the balcony, from whence he perceived his own carriage standing at the garden gate, and his own man John, who, after assisting a short, plump, middle-aged gentleman to alight, conducted him across the garden. Sir John hastened to close the door between Hutchins's room and the lobby, and returned to his observatory in time to see the new-comer stop at the foot of the steps, take off his hat, draw forth a snow-white handkerchief, and wliile slowly wiping his large bald head, shining in the sun like a golden ball, take a hasty survey of all that he could see of his own person ; then, after first stamping one foot and then the other, to shake away some small particles of dust that dimmed the brilliancy of his polished patent-leather boots, mount the stairs with a deliberate step. " Something like a physician," murmured the baronet, as he caught a nearer view of the broad, honest, English face, close-shaved chin, and rigorous professional black costume, to which the irreproachable white neckcloth and finely-plaited wide shirt-frill gave an exquisite finish. Sir John's Deart expanded as a flower bitten by the first frost expands under the cheering rays of an October sun. Sir John's reception of the stranger was as cordial as SirJohn's nature and habits permitted : he put out the index and medium of his right hand in sign of welcome, and positively made a slight apology for the trouble he had given. The English doctor received with due deference between his own thumb and index the two fingers held out, giving them a gentle professional pressure, as if he were feeling their pulse. This done, Doctor Yorke—for such was the name of the new...