save one, has been seen in either Rothescamp for many a year.

Save one. Walk up the village street, and you will see a long red brick house, two stories high, with a row of pollarded limes in front of it. If the hall-door is open you may admire the old stairway of black oak, and the pleasant garden, which may be seen through an arched doorway. Look at the brass-plate on that entrance-door, and you will see engraven"Septimus Tachbrook, M.D." Enter a quaint study on the left, and you will see Doctor Septimus Tachbrook-a spare man, six feet four inches high, with stooping shoulders, an eagle's beak, and eyes so keen that you at once conclude he wears those gold-rimmed spectacles to moderate their power.

Doctor Tachbrook is the youngest son of the brother of the last baronet. He is seventh son of a seventh son-a doctor heaven-born. He made himself what he is. His father, considering himself hardly used, because he was the youngest son when he ought to have been the eldest, consoled himself with wine and the dice, and died an outlaw. Septimus Tachbrook's eldest brothers

took much after their father: they were

very

obliged to work for their living; they did the genteelest work they could find. One married a rich widow; another started a bank on a new principle; a third got an appointment under Government, and so on. Not so Septimus. An old maiden lady, his mother's cousin, seeing that he meant to work, helped him to obtain a medical education. Medicine was his natural faculty. A thorough disciple of Asklepios, he loved the healing art. He practised with success in London for some time; but when the old lady died, she left him her little property, a few hundreds a year, and he, drawn towards his native air, bought the old house in Rothescamp village, and settled down for life. Soon he had a capital practice, for all the county families for miles round were delighted to have as doctor a real Tachbrook. He ruined two or three rivals, who had previously been trying to ruin each other. He had more than he could do; his curricle and pair seemed ubiquitous. Nobody of any standing, for miles around Rothescamp, could be born or die without Doctor Tachbrook's aid.

When the Doctor was nearly forty, an adventure befell him. Among his clients was a widow lady of about his own age-Lady Endsleigh-who had several daughters, and who kept a governess to look after them. This governess was Polish girl, with the wondrous name of Sobieska Chlopicki; amazingly accomplished, mistress of many languages, a musician most perfect and original. Her hair was long, and black as midnight; her face pallid, but looking as if a fire burnt beneath the skin; her tall form strangely pliant and willowy; her hands tremulous, nervous, looking like living creatures on the strings of a harp, or the keys of a piano. Lady Endsleigh and her daughters were subjugated by her. She became their mistress. They worshipped and obeyed her. All the country round used to remark how infatuated Lady Endsleigh was with that foreign governess of hers.

One night, about twelve, as the Doctor was just going to bed, there came a tremendous ring at the night-bell. Opening the door, Doctor Tachbrook saw a carriage with four steaming horses, the lamps throwing vivid

light upon the dark village street. The man who had rung delivered a note from Lady Endsleigh. It was brief and incoherent; it simply stated that Miss Chlopicki was suddenly taken very ill-seemed to be in a sort of trance-would he come at once?

"Confound the girl!" said to himself Septimus Tachbrook, who was rather sleepy. "Never mind; it's a good eight miles to the Lodge; I shall get half-an-hour's doze in the carriage."

So he put together such things as he deemed necessary, got into the carriage, and slept till the postilions pulled up at Lady Endsleigh's gate.

Her Ladyship was a cheerful fussy personage, who took her meals regularly, and delighted in gossip. She was a kind of grown-up child, and as she had married young, her elder daughters treated her very much as if she were merely their sister. The establishment was in a chaotic state until Miss Chlopicki came as governess; before that time no governess had been known to stay above three months. This Polish girl was a born administratrix.

At once she saw

the situation. She took Mary Endsleigh, the eldest daughter, a girl of twenty-three, in hand, and told her that her conduct to her mother was improper. Miss Endsleigh laughed at her superciliously: she was no match for the Pole.

"You may sneer," she said; "you think yourself better than I; but my father was a prince, and I am a princess in my own right. I am poor, you think-I am; but I am not so poor in spirit as to treat my own mother with disrespect. Take my advice, Miss Endsleigh, behave to Lady Endsleigh like a daughter; then, as a reward, I will teach you to play the piano like an artist, instead of thumping it as if all your fingers were hammers."

It took a little time to carry out the reform, but Sobieska did it. She advised her Ladyship on all points. She induced her to act as mistress in the house; whereas, previously, orders had been given by all the elder daughters, and when Lady Endsleigh wanted to drive, she would perhaps find all the carriages engaged. Lady Endsleigh was fond of giving dinner-parties, and the three