The surgeon was skilled in every science by which a man may purchase
the hearts and minds of his fellow-men. He could read Sir Oswald
Eversleigh's valet as he could have read an open book He saw that the
man was weak, irresolute, tolerably honest, but open to temptation. He
was a middle-aged man, with sandy hair, a pale face, and light,
greenish-gray eyes.
"Weak," thought the surgeon, as he examined this man's countenance,
"greedy, and avaricious. So, so; we can do what we like with Mr.
Millard."
Victor Carrington told the valet that he was the most intimate friend
of Reginald Eversleigh, and that he made this visit entirely without
that gentleman's knowledge. He dwelt much upon Mr. Eversleigh's grief--
his despair.
"But he is very proud," he added; "too proud to approach this house,
either directly or indirectly. The shock caused by his uncle's
unexpected abandonment of him has completely prostrated him. I am a
member of the medical profession, Mr. Millard, and I assure you that
during the past fortnight I have almost feared for my friend's reason.
I therefore determined upon a desperate step--a step which Reginald
Eversleigh would never forgive, were he to become aware of it. I
determined upon coming to this house, and ascertaining, if possible,
the nature of Sir Oswald's feelings towards his nephew. Is there any
hope of a reconciliation?"
"I'm afraid not, sir.
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