’The doctor hesitated, and then said:  ’I fear, my dear sir, another hour is all you can hope for.’

’’I thank you, doctor, for your frankness.  No antidote, then, can save me?’

’’None.  The poison you have taken, which the Indians call ’Leche de palo,’ is deadly.  Your present sufferings will soon cease, and gradually you will sink, peacefully and painlessly, into the sleep of death.’

’’Send instantly, then, for a magistrate.  I at least will be revenged on my murderer,’ said Arthur, ‘let me at once make my statement.’

‘’You will only be wasting your dying moments,’ interposed the doctor; ’day after day, I am called upon to witness the ravages of this insidious poison, but never yet has the scaffold punished the assassin.  My dear friend, think not of your murderer; eternity is opening to receive you; in its solemn presence, mere human vengeance shrinks into utter nothingness.’

‘’Doctor, you speak wisely as well as kindly.  Poor Adele,’ murmured Arthur, and his eyes closed, though his lips still moved.

’After the doctor’s departure, I sent to the American Legation, urgently requesting some official to return with my messenger.  I took a chair beside the bed, while Donna Teresa knelt in the adjoining room, and prayed and sobbed with much fervor.  In a short while, Arthur rallied from the stupor into which he had fallen.  His features became calm, his breathing regular though feeble, and the tranquil, almost happy, expression of his eye made me for a time half doubt the fearful prediction of the physician.

‘’Do you feel better?’ I inquired.

‘’Much much; I am in no pain.’

‘’Let us hope, then, for the best.  I will send for another doctor.’

’’No, that would be useless.  My lower extremities are swelling, and I can feel the hand of death clutching at my vitals.  The doctor was right; death is not racking me with torture, it is gently embracing me.  But I want your assistance; sit down.’

’I resumed my seat, and Arthur continued, in a feeble tone, but perfectly calm: 

’’How mean a thing is life!  Good God! so mean, that at this moment I can not explain to my own soul why man should cling to it.  What do we meet during our short career?  Deceit, hypocrisy, and treachery.  Ah! death reveals the hollowness of life.’

’’My dear friend, you are exhausting yourself.  Did you not say you wanted my assistance?  Rely on my zeal, my fidelity, and my discretion.’

’’Rely on you!  How can I tell?  You are only a man; perhaps avaricious and treacherous as your fellow-mortals.  No matter; though you should forswear yourself; I, at least, will do what is right.  Feel beneath my pillow, there is a key; take it, open my desk.  In the small drawer on the left is a package of letters.  Have you them?  Good.  Next to that there is a sealed letter.  Now, read aloud the direction on each.’

‘’Papers to be burnt after my death,’ said I, obeying his injunction.