“I will come by-and-bye, Mynheer Philip, if I can.”

“You’ll come now, you wretched old miser,” exclaimed Philip, seizing hold of the little man by the collar, and pulling him out of his door.

“Murder! murder!” cried Poots, as he lost his legs, and was dragged along by the impetuous young man.

Philip stopped, for he perceived that Poots was black in the face.

“Must I then choke you, to make you go quietly? for, hear me, go you shall, alive or dead.”

“Well, then,” replied Poots, recovering himself, “I will go, but I’ll have you in prison to-night:  and, as for your mother, I’ll not—­no, that I will not—­Mynheer Philip, depend upon it.”

“Mark me, Mynheer Poots,” replied Philip, “as sure as there is a God in heaven, if you do not come with me, I’ll choke you now; and when you arrive, if you do not do your best for my poor mother, I’ll murder you there.  You know that I always do what I say, so now take my advice, come along quietly, and you shall certainly be paid, and well paid—­if I sell my coat.”

This last observation of Philip, perhaps, had more effect than even his threats.  Poots was a miserable little atom, and like a child in the powerful grasp of the young man.  The doctor’s tenement was isolated, and he could obtain no assistance until within a hundred yards of Vanderdecken’s cottage; so Mynheer Poots decided that he would go, first, because Philip had promised to pay him, and secondly, because he could not help it.

This point being settled, Philip and Mynheer Poots made all haste to the cottage; and on their arrival, they found his mother still in the arms of two of her female neighbours, who were bathing her temples with vinegar.  She was in a state of consciousness, but she could not speak.  Poots ordered her to be carried upstairs and put to bed, and pouring some acids down her throat, hastened away with Philip to procure the necessary remedies.

“You will give your mother that directly, Mynheer Philip,” said Poots, putting a phial into his hand; “I will now go to the child of the burgomaster, and will afterwards come back to your cottage.”

“Don’t deceive me,” said Philip, with a threatening look.

“No, no, Mynheer Philip, I would not trust to your uncle Van Brennen for payment, but you have promised, and I know that you always keep your word.  In one hour I will be with your mother; but you yourself must now be quick.”

Philip hastened home.  After the potion had been administered, the bleeding was wholly stopped; and in half an hour, his mother could express her wishes in a whisper.  When the little doctor arrived, he carefully examined his patient, and then went downstairs with her son into the kitchen.

“Mynheer Philip,” said Poots, “by Allah!  I have done my best, but I must tell you that I have little hopes of your mother rising from her bed again.  She may live one day or two days, but not more.  It is not my fault, Mynheer Philip,” continued Poots, in a deprecating tone.