On a bright, snowy night in December, some years ago, Dr. Spenlove, having been employed all the afternoon and evening in paying farewell visits to his patients, walked briskly toward his home through the narrowest and most squalid thoroughfares in Portsmouth. The animation of his movements may be set down to the severity of the weather, and not to any inward cheerfulness of spirits, for as he passed familiar landmarks he looked at them with a certain regret which men devoid of sentiment would have pronounced an indication of a weak nature. In this opinion, however, they would have been wrong, for Dr. Spenlove's intended departure early the following morning from a field which had strong cl…
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