"Miss Snowe," recommenced Dr. John—my health, nervous system included, being now somewhat to my relief, discussed and done with—"is it permitted me to ask what your religion now is? Are you a Catholic?"
I looked up in some surprise—"A Catholic? No! Why suggest such an idea?"
"The manner in which you were consigned to me last night, made me doubt."
"I consigned to you? But, indeed, I forget. It remains yet for me to learn how I fell into your hands."
"Why, under circumstances that puzzled me. I had been in attendance all day yesterday on a case of singularly interesting, and critical character; the disease being rare, and its treatment doubtful: I saw a similar and still finer case in a hospital at Paris; but that will not interest you. At last a mitigation of the patient's most urgent symptoms (acute pain is one of its accompaniments) liberated me, and I set out homeward. My shortest way lay through the BasseVille, and as the night was excessively dark, wild and wet, I took it. In riding past an old church belonging to a community of Béguines, I saw by a lamp burning over the porch
