The doctor's pretty housemaid stood waiting for me, with the street door

open in her hand. Pouring brightly into the hall, the morning light fell

full on the face of Mr. Candy's assistant when I turned, and looked at

him.

It was impossible to dispute Betteredge's assertion that the appearance

of Ezra Jennings, speaking from a popular point of view, was against

him. His gipsy-complexion, his fleshless cheeks, his gaunt facial bones,

his dreamy eyes, his extraordinary parti-coloured hair, the puzzling

contradiction between his face and figure which made him look old and

young both together--were all more or less calculated to produce an

unfavourable impression of him on a stranger's mind. And yet--feeling

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this as I certainly did--it is not to be denied that Ezra Jennings made

some inscrutable appeal to my sympathies, which I found it impossible to

resist. While my knowledge of the world warned me to answer the question

which he had put, acknowledging that I did indeed find Mr. Candy sadly

changed, and then to proceed on my way out of the house--my interest in

Ezra Jennings held me rooted to the place, and gave him the opportunity

of speaking to me in private about his employer, for which he had been

evidently on the watch.

"Are you walking my way, Mr. Jennings?" I said, observing that he held

his hat in his hand. "I am going to call on my aunt, Mrs. Ablewhite."

Ezra Jennings replied that he had a patient to see, and that he was

walking my way.

We left the house together. I observed that the pretty servant girl--who

was all smiles and amiability, when I wished her good morning on my way

out--received a modest little message from Ezra Jennings, relating to

the time at which he might be expected to return, with pursed-up lips,

and with eyes which ostentatiously looked anywhere rather than look in

his face. The poor wretch was evidently no favourite in the house.

Out of the house, I had Betteredge's word for it that he was unpopular

everywhere. "What a life!" I thought to myself, as we descended the

doctor's doorsteps.

Having already referred to Mr. Candy's illness on his side, Ezra

Jennings now appeared determined to leave it to me to resume the

subject. His silence said significantly, "It's your turn now." I, too,

had my reasons for referring to the doctor's illness: and I readily

accepted the responsibility of speaking first.

"Judging by the change I see in him," I began, "Mr. Candy's illness must

have been far more serious that I had supposed?"

"It is almost a miracle," said Ezra Jennings, "that he lived through

it."

"Is his memory never any better than I have found it to-day? He has been

trying to speak to me----"

"Of something which happened before he was taken ill?" asked the

assistant, observing that I hesitated.




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