out faithfully, although Raffles was incessantly asking for brandy, and declaring that he was sinking away—­ that the earth was sinking away from under him.  He was restless and sleepless, but still quailing and manageable.  On the offer of the food ordered by Lydgate, which he refused, and the denial of other things which he demanded, he seemed to concentrate all his terror on Bulstrode, imploringly deprecating his anger, his revenge on him by starvation, and declaring with strong oaths that he had never told any mortal a word against him.  Even this Bulstrode felt that he would not have liked Lydgate to hear; but a more alarming sign of fitful alternation in his delirium was, that in-the morning twilight Raffles suddenly seemed to imagine a doctor present, addressing him and declaring that Bulstrode wanted to starve him to death out of revenge for telling, when he never had told.

Bulstrode’s native imperiousness and strength of determination served him well.  This delicate-looking man, himself nervously perturbed, found the needed stimulus in his strenuous circumstances, and through that difficult night and morning, while he had the air of an animated corpse returned to movement without warmth, holding the mastery by its chill impassibility his mind was intensely at work thinking of what he had to guard against and what would win him security.  Whatever prayers he might lift up, whatever statements he might inwardly make of this man’s wretched spiritual condition, and the duty he himself was under to submit to the punishment divinely appointed for him rather than to wish for evil to another—­through all this effort to condense words into a solid mental state, there pierced and spread with irresistible vividness the images of the events he desired.  And in the train of those images came their apology.  He could not but see the death of Raffles, and see in it his own deliverance.  What was the removal of this wretched creature?  He was impenitent—­ but were not public criminals impenitent?—­yet the law decided on their fate.  Should Providence in this case award death, there was no sin in contemplating death as the desirable issue—­ if he kept his hands from hastening it—­if he scrupulously did what was prescribed.  Even here there might be a mistake:  human prescriptions were fallible things:  Lydgate had said that treatment had hastened death,—­why not his own method of treatment?  But of course intention was everything in the question of right and wrong.

And Bulstrode set himself to keep his intention separate from his desire.  He inwardly declared that he intended to obey orders.  Why should he have got into any argument about the validity of these orders?  It was only the common trick of desire—­which avails itself of any irrelevant scepticism, finding larger room for itself in all uncertainty about effects, in every obscurity that looks like the absence of law.  Still, he did obey the orders.