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the walls； which were of a very dark hue。 There was a fire in the
grate； the night being damp and chill。 Leaning against the
chimney…piece looking down into it； stood the Doctor's Assistant。
A man of a most remarkable appearance。 Much older than Mr。
Goodchild had expected； for he was at least two…and…fifty； but；
that was nothing。 What was startling in him was his remarkable
paleness。 His large black eyes； his sunken cheeks； his long and
heavy iron…grey hair； his wasted hands； and even the attenuation of
his figure； were at first forgotten in his extraordinary pallor。
There was no vestige of colour in the man。 When he turned his
face； Francis Goodchild started as if a stone figure had looked
round at him。
'Mr。 Lorn；' said the Doctor。 'Mr。 Goodchild。'
The Assistant； in a distraught way … as if he had forgotten
something … as if he had forgotten everything； even to his own name
and himself … acknowledged the visitor's presence； and stepped
further back into the shadow of the wall behind him。 But； he was
so pale that his face stood out in relief again the dark wall； and
really could not be hidden so。
'Mr。 Goodchild's friend has met with accident； Lorn；' said Doctor
Speddie。 'We want the lotion for a bad sprain。'
A pause。
'My dear fellow； you are more than usually absent to…night。 The
lotion for a bad sprain。'
'Ah！ yes！ Directly。'
He was evidently relieved to turn away； and to take his white face
and his wild eyes to a table in a recess among the bottles。 But；
though he stood there； compounding the lotion with his back towards
them； Goodchild could not； for many moments； withdraw his gaze from
the man。 When he at length did so； he found the Doctor observing
him； with some trouble in his face。 'He is absent；' explained the
Doctor； in a low voice。 'Always absent。 Very absent。'
'Is he ill？'
'No； not ill。'
'Unhappy？'
'I have my suspicions that he was；' assented the Doctor； 'once。'
Francis Goodchild could not but observe that the Doctor accompanied
these words with a benignant and protecting glance at their
subject； in which there was much of the expression with which an
attached father might have looked at a heavily afflicted son。 Yet；
that they were not father and son must have been plain to most
eyes。 The Assistant； on the other hand； turning presently to ask
the Doctor some question； looked at him with a wan smile as if he
were his whole reliance and sustainment in life。
It was in vain for the Doctor in his easy…chair； to try to lead the
mind of Mr。 Goodchild in the opposite easy…chair； away from what
was before him。 Let Mr。 Goodchild do what he would to follow the
Doctor； his eyes and thoughts reverted to the Assistant。 The
Doctor soon perceived it； and； after falling silent； and musing in
a little perplexity； said：
'Lorn！'
'My dear Doctor。'
'Would you go to the Inn； and apply that lotion？ You will show the
best way of applying it； far better than Mr。 Goodchild can。'
'With pleasure。'
The Assistant took his hat； and passed like a shadow to the door。
'Lorn！' said the Doctor； calling after him。
He returned。
'Mr。 Goodchild will keep me company till you come home。 Don't
hurry。 Excuse my calling you back。'
'It is not；' said the Assistant； with his former smile； 'the first
time you have called me back； dear Doctor。' With those words he
went away。
'Mr。 Goodchild；' said Doctor Speddie； in a low voice； and with his
former troubled expression of face； 'I have seen that your
attention has been concentrated on my friend。'
'He fascinates me。 I must apologise to you； but he has quite
bewildered and mastered me。'
'I find that a lonely existence and a long secret；' said the
Doctor； drawing his chair a little nearer to Mr。 Goodchild's；
'become in the course of time very heavy。 I will tell you
something。 You may make what use you will of it； under fictitious
names。 I know I may trust you。 I am the more inclined to
confidence to…night； through having been unexpectedly led back； by
the current of our conversation at the Inn； to scenes in my early
life。 Will you please to draw a little nearer？'
Mr。 Goodchild drew a little nearer； and the Doctor went on thus：
speaking； for the most part； in so cautious a voice； that the wind；
though it was far from high； occasionally got the better of him。
When this present nineteenth century was younger by a good many
years than it is now； a certain friend of mine； named Arthur
Holliday； happened to arrive in the town of Doncaster； exactly in
the middle of a race…week； or； in other words； in the middle of the
month of September。 He was one of those reckless； rattle…pated；
open…hearted； and open…mouthed young gentlemen； who possess the
gift of familiarity in its highest perfection； and who scramble
carelessly along the journey of life making friends； as the phrase
is； wherever they go。 His father was a rich manufacturer； and had
bought landed property enough in one of the midland counties to
make all the born squires in his neighbourhood thoroughly envious
of him。 Arthur was his only son； possessor in prospect of the
great estate and the great business after his father's death； well
supplied with money； and not too rigidly looked after； during his
father's lifetime。 Report； or scandal； whichever you please； said
that the old gentleman had been rather wild in his youthful days；
and that； unlike most parents； he was not disposed to be violently
indignant when he found that his son took after him。 This may be
true or not。 I myself only knew the elder Mr。 Holliday when he was
getting on in years； and then he was as quiet and as respectable a
gentleman as ever I met with。
Well； one September； as I told you； young Arthur comes to
Doncaster； having decided all of a sudden； in his harebrained way；
that he would go to the races。 He did not reach the town till
towards the close of the evening； and he went at once to see about
his dinner and bed at the principal hotel。 Dinner they were ready
enough to give him； but as for a bed； they laughed when he
mentioned it。 In the race…week at Doncaster； it is no uncommon
thing for visitors who have not bespoken apartments； to pass the
night in their carriages at the inn doors。 As for the lower sort
of strangers； I myself have often seen them； at that full time；
sleeping out on the doorsteps for want of a covered place to creep
under。 Rich as he was； Arthur's chance of getting a night's
lodging （seeing that he had not written beforehand to secure one）
was more than doubtful。 He tried the second hotel； and the third
hotel； and two of the inferior inns after that； and was met
everywhere by the same form of answer。 No accommodation for the
night of any sort was left。 All the bright golden sovereigns in
his pocket would not buy him a bed at Doncaster in the race…week。
To a young fellow of Arthur's temperament； the novelty of being
turned away into the street； like a penniless vagabond； at every
house where he asked for a lodging； presented itself in the light
of a new and highly amusing piece of experience。 He went on； with
his carpet…bag in his hand； applying for a bed at every place of
entertainment for travellers that he could find in Doncaster； until
he wandered into the outskirts of the town。 By this time； the last
glimmer of twilight had faded out； the moon was rising dimly in a
mist； the wind was getting cold； the clouds were gathering heavily；
and there was every prospect that it was soon going to rain。
The look of the night had rather a lowering effect on young
Holliday's good spirits。 He began to contemplate the houseless
situation in which he was placed； from the serious rather than the
humorous point of view； and he looked about him； for another
public…house to inquire at； with something very like downright
anxiety in his mind on the subject of a lodging for the night。 The
suburban part of the town towards which he had now strayed was
hardly lighted at all； and he could see nothing of the houses as he
passed them； except that they got progressively smaller and
dirtier； the farther he went。 Down the winding road before him
shone the dull gleam of an oil lamp； the one faint； lonely light
that struggled ineffectually with the foggy darkness all round him。
He resolved to go on as far as this lamp； and then； if it showed
him nothing in the shape of an Inn； to return to the central part
of the town and to try if he could not at least secure a chair to
sit down on； through the night； at one of the principal Hotels。
As he got near the lamp； he heard voices； and； walking close under
it； found that it lighted the entrance to a narrow court； on the
wall of which was painted a long hand in faded flesh…colour；
pointing with a lean forefinger； to this inscription：…
THE TWO ROBINS。