‘Ay, Sir,’ said Sturk.

‘The same murder of which Lord Dunoran was adjudged guilty.’

Sturk moved his lips with a sort of nod.

’And, Doctor Sturk, you remember you then said you had yourself seen Charles Archer do that murder.’

Sturk lifted his hand feebly enough to his forehead, and his lips moved, and his eyes closed.  They thought he was praying—­possibly he was; so they did not interrupt him; and he said, all on a sudden, but in a low dejected way, and with many pauses—­

’Charles Archer.  I never saw another such face; ’tis always before me.  He was a man that everybody knew was dangerous—­a damnable profligate besides—­and, as all believed, capable of anything, though nobody could actually bring anything clearly home to him but his bloody duels, which, however, were fairly fought.  I saw him only thrice in my life before I saw him here.  In a place, at Newmarket, where they played hazard, was once; and I saw him fight Beau Langton; and I saw him murder Mr. Beauclerc.  I saw it all!’ And the doctor swore a shuddering oath.

’I lay in the small room or closet, off the chamber in which he slept.  I was suffering under a bad fracture, and dosed with opium.  ’Tis all very strange, Sir.  I saw everything that happened.  I saw him stab Beauclerc.  Don’t question me; it tires me.  I think ’twas a dagger.  It looked like a small bayonet I’ll tell you how—­all, by-and-by.’

He sipped a little wine and water, and wiped his lips with a very tremulous handkerchief.

‘I never spoke of it, for I could not.  The whole of that five minutes’ work slipped from my mind, and was gone quite and clean when I awoke.  What I saw I could not interrupt.  I was in a cataleptic state, I suppose.  I could not speak; but I saw like a lynx, and heard every whisper.  When I awakened in the morning I remembered nothing.  I did not know I had a secret.  The knowledge was sealed up until the time came.  A sight of Charles Archer’s face at any time would have had, as I suppose, the same effect.  When I saw him here, the first time, it was at the general’s at Belmont; though he was changed by time, and carefully disguised, all would not do.  I felt the sight of him was fatal.  I was quite helpless; but my mind never stopped working upon it till—­till—­’

Sturk groaned.

‘See now,’ said Toole, ’there’s time enough, and don’t fatigue yourself.  There, now, rest quiet a minute.’

And he made him swallow some more wine; and felt his pulse and shook his head despondingly at Lowe, behind his back.

‘How is it?’ said Sturk, faintly.

‘A little irritable—­that’s all,’ said Toole.

’’Till one night, I say,’—­Sturk resumed, after a minute or two, ’it came to me all at once, awake—­I don’t know—­or in a dream; in a moment I had it all.  ’Twas like a page cut out of a book—­lost for so many years.’  And Sturk moaned a despairing wish to Heaven that the secret had never returned to him again.