Another morning broke. It was possible, said the doctors (a
second had been summoned), that a crisis which drew near might
bring the favourable turn; but Amy formed her own opinion from
the way in which the nurse expressed herself. She felt sure that
the gravest fears were entertained. Before noon Reardon awoke
from what had seemed natural sleep--save for the rapid breathing-
-and of a sudden recollected the number of the house in Cleveland
Street at which Biffen was now living. He uttered it without
explanation. Amy at once conjectured his meaning, and as soon as
her surmise was confirmed she despatched a telegram to her
husband's friend.
That evening, as Amy was on the point of returning to the sick-
room after having dined at her friend's house, it was announced
that a gentleman named Biffen wished to see her. She found him in
the dining-room, and, even amid her distress, it was a
satisfaction to her that he presented a far more conventional
appearance than in the old days. All the garments he wore, even
his hat, gloves, and boots, were new; a surprising state of
things, explained by the fact of his commercial brother having
sent him a present of ten pounds, a practical expression of
sympathy with him in his recent calamity.
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