“I intend to do so.  You are not likely to live till night.”

The wretched man tried to raise himself, but his will had no power over his body.  He turned his head round with a groan, and hid his face against the wall.

There were other people in the house; but since Clarkson had been brought in, they kept as much as possible at the further end, and could not hear what passed unless it was intended that they should.  Presently Clarkson again looked round, and there was a new expression of terror and anxiety in his eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asked.  “Quite certain I can’t get well?”

“Quite certain.  There is not the shadow of a chance.”

“Look here, then; I have something to say.”

“It had better be said soon.”

“I say, Doctor, is that Indian fellow really going to die?”

“What Indian fellow?”

“The one in jail—­the one that they say killed Doctor Morton.”

“He is very ill.  Why do you say that they say he killed Doctor Morton?”

“Because he did not do it, and I know who did.”

“Is that what you have to tell?”

“I’d have let him hang, mind; I’d never have told a word.  But it’s to be me after all!” He stopped and groaned again heavily.

“Look here, Doctor,” he went on, “you’ll just remember this, will you?  My missus knows nothing about it—­not a word; and don’t let them go and bother her about it afterwards.  Will you promise?”

“The best way to keep her from being troubled is to tell the truth yourself.”

“Well, I’ll do it then, for her.  She’s a good one.”

He was silent again for a minute, resolute not to let even the thoughts of his good wife, who loved him through all his faults, change his hard manner to any unusual softness.

In the pause the sound of sleigh bells outside was heard, and through the window the doctor caught sight of his own little sleigh, with Mr. Bayne in it, coming up to the door of the house.

“Now, Clarkson,” he said, “you see that the best thing for everybody is, that you should tell the exact truth about that murder.  I am not going to talk to you about the benefit it may be to yourself to make what amends you can for the wrong you have done, but I can tell you that Christian has friends who would be glad to see him cleared; and if you will tell all the truth now, late as it is, I think I may promise that they will look after your wife and children.”

The doctor spoke fast, having made up his mind to deliver this little speech before they were interrupted.  Then he went to the door and opened it, just in time to admit Mr. Bayne.

When they came together to Clarkson’s side, he was lying quite quiet, considering.  His paralysed condition and fast increasing weakness seemed to keep down all excitement.  He was perfectly conscious, but it was a sort of mechanical consciousness with which emotion of any kind had very little to do.  Mr. Bayne, who did not yet know why he had been sent for, but thought only of the dying man’s claim upon him as a clergyman, spoke a few friendly words and sat down near the settee.