‘I’m very bad—­the sight’s affected,’ groaned Sturk.

’See, Sir, you tire yourself to no purpose.  You’re in good hands, Sir—­and all will go well—­as we expect—­Pell has been with you twice—­’

‘H’m!  Pell—­that’s good.’

‘And you’re going on mighty well, Sir, especially to-night.’

‘Doctor, upon your honour, have I a chance?’

‘You have, Sir,—­certainly—­yes—­upon my honour.’

‘Thank God!’ groaned Sturk, turning up the whites of his eyes, and lifting up two very shaky hands.

‘But you must not spoil it—­and fatigue will do that for you,’ remarked Toole.

’But, Sir, Sir—­I beg pardon, Doctor Toole—­but this case is not quite a common one.  What Doctor Sturk is about to say may acquire an additional legal value by his understanding precisely the degree of danger in which he lies.  Now, Doctor Sturk, you must not be over much disturbed,’ said Lowe.

‘No, Sir—­don’t fear me—­I’m not much disturbed,’ said Sturk.

‘Well, Doctor Toole,’ continued Lowe, ’we must depart a little here from regular medical routine—­tell Doctor Sturk plainly all you think.’

’Why—­a’—­and Doctor Toole cleared his voice, and hesitated.

’Tell him what you and Doctor Dillon think, Sir.  Why, Doctor Dillon spoke very plainly to me.’

’I don’t like his pulse, Sir.  I think you had better not have agitated him,’ muttered Toole with an impatient oath.

‘’Tis worse to keep his mind doubtful, and on the stretch,’ said Lowe.  ’Doctor Toole, Sir, has told you the bright side of the case.  It is necessary, making the deposition you propose, that you should know t’other.’

‘Yes, of course—­quite right—­go on,’ said Sturk faintly.

‘Why, you know,’ said Toole, sniffing, and a little sulkily, ’you know, Doctor Sturk, we, doctors, like to put the best foot foremost; but you can’t but be aware, that with the fractures—­two fractures—­along the summit of the skull, and the operation by the trepan, behind your head, just accomplished, there must be, of course, some danger.’

‘I see.  Sir,’ said Sturk, very quietly, but looking awfully cadaverous; ‘all I want to know is, how long you think I may live?’

’You may recover altogether, Sir—­you may—­but, of course—­you may—­there’s a chance; and things might not go right,’ said Toole, taking snuff.

’I see—­Sir—­’tis enough’—­and there was a pause.  ’I’d like to have the sacrament, and pray with the clergyman a little—­Lord help me!—­and my will—­only a few words—­I don’t suppose there’s much left me; but there’s a power of appointment—­a reversion of L600, stock—­I’m tired.’

‘Here, take this,’ said Toole, and put half-a-dozen spoonsful of claret and water into his lips, and he seemed to revive a little.  ’There’s no immediate hurry—­upon my honour, Doctor Sturk, there isn’t,’ said Toole.  ’Just rest aisy a bit; you’re disturbed a good deal, Sir; your pulse shows it; and you need not, I assure you, upon my conscience and honour—­’tis quite on the cards you may recover.’