“I doubt that,” answered Gilbert; “but I’ll do my best.  Has he been delirious to-day?”

“No, sir, not once; and of course that’s a great thing gained.”

A feeble voice from the inner room called Gilbert by name presently, and he went in at its bidding.

“Is that you, Gilbert?  Come in, for pity’s sake.  I was sure of the voice.  So you have come on your errand of charity once more.  I am very glad to see you, though you are not my friend.  Sit down, ministering Christian, sit by my side; I have some questions to ask you.”

“You must not talk much, John.  The doctor insists upon perfect tranquillity.”

“He might just as well insist upon my making myself Emperor of all the Russias; one demand would be about as reasonable as the other.  How long have I been lying here like a log—­a troublesome log, by the way; for I find from some hints the nurse dropped to-day as to the blessing of my recovery, that I have been somewhat given to violence;—­how long have I been ill, Gilbert?”

“A very long time.”

“Give me a categorical answer.  How many weeks and days?”

“You were taken ill about the middle of December, and we are now in the first week of February.”

“Nearly two months; and in all that time I have been idle—­ergo, no remittances from publishers.  How have I lived, Gilbert?  How have the current expenses of my illness been paid?  And the children of Israel—­have they not been clamorous?  There was a bill due in January, I know.  I was working for that when I got pulled up.  How is it that my vile carcass is not in their hands?”

“You need give yourself no trouble; the bill has been taken up.”

“By you, of course?  Yes; you do not deny it.  And you have been spending your money day by day to keep me alive.  But then you would have done as much for a stranger.  Great heaven, what a mean hound I seem to myself, as I lie here and think what you have done for me, and how I have acted towards you!” He turned himself in his bed with a great effort, and lay with his face to the wall.  “Let me hide my face from you,” he said; “I am a shameful creature.”

“Believe me, once more, there is not the faintest shadow of an obligation,” Gilbert responded eagerly; “I can very well afford anything I have done; shall never feel myself the poorer for it by a sixpence.  I cannot bear that these things should be spoken of between us.  You know how often I have begged you to let me help you in the past, and how wounded I have been by your refusal.”

“Yes, when we were friends, before I had ever wronged you.  If I had taken your help then, I should hardly have felt the obligation.  But, stay, I am not such a pauper as I seem.  My wife will have money; at least you told me that the old man was rich.”

“Yes, your wife will have money, plenty of money.  You have no need to trouble yourself about financial matters.  You have only to consider what the doctor has said.  Your recovery depends almost entirely upon your tranquillity of mind.  If you want to get well speedily, you must remember this.”