The clock suddenly stopped ticking, and outside, in mysterious accord, the pigeons rose with a great fluttering of wings, and flew off’.  Mr. Treffry made a startled, heavy movement.  He tried to get on to his feet and reach the bell, but could not, and sat on the side of the couch with drops of sweat rolling off his forehead, and his hands clawing his chest.  There was no sound at all throughout the house.  He looked about him, and tried to call, but again could not.  He tried once more to reach the bell, and, failing, sat still, with a thought that made him cold.

“I’m done for,” he muttered.  “By George!  I believe I’m done for this time!” A voice behind him said: 

“Can we have a look at you, sir?”

“Ah!  Doctor, bear a hand, there’s a good fellow.”

Dawney propped him against the cushions, and loosened his shirt.  Receiving no answer to his questions, he stepped alarmed towards the bell.  Mr. Treffry stopped him with a sign.

“Let’s hear what you make of me,” he said.

When Dawney had examined him, he asked: 

“Well?”

“Well,” answered Dawney slowly, “there’s trouble, of course.”

Mr. Treffry broke out with a husky whisper:  “Out with it, Doctor; don’t humbug me.”

Dawney bent down, and took his wrist.

“I don’t know how you’ve got into this state, sir,” he said with the brusqueness of emotion.  “You’re in a bad way.  It’s the old trouble; and you know what that means as well as I. All I can tell you is, I’m going to have a big fight with it.  It shan’t be my fault, there’s my hand on that.”

Mr. Treffry lay with his eyes fixed on the ceiling; at last he said: 

“I want to live.”

“Yes—­yes.”

“I feel better now; don’t make a fuss about it.  It’ll be very awkward if I die just now.  Patch me up, for the sake of my niece.”

Dawney nodded.  “One minute, there are a few things I want,” and he went out.

A moment later Greta stole in on tiptoe.  She bent over till her hair touched Mr. Treffry’s face.

“Uncle Nic!” she whispered.  He opened his eyes.

“Hallo, Greta!”

“I have come to bring you my love, Uncle Nic, and to say good-bye.  Papa says that I and Scruff and Miss Naylor are going to Vienna with him; we have had to pack in half an hour; in five minutes we are going to Vienna, and it is my first visit there, Uncle Nic.”

“To Vienna!” Mr. Treffry repeated slowly.  “Don’t have a guide, Greta; they’re humbugs.”

“No, Uncle Nic,” said Greta solemnly.

“Draw the curtains, old girl, let’s have a look at you.  Why, you’re as smart as ninepence!”

“Yes,” said Greta with a sigh, touching the buttons of her cape, “because I am going to Vienna; but I am sorry to leave you, Uncle Nic.”

“Are you, Greta?”

“But you will have Chris, and you are fonder of Chris than of me, Uncle Nic.”