Herr Paul divided his beard carefully in two, took his seat on the very edge of an arm-chair, and placing his hands on his parted knees, said: 

“I have regretted it since—­mais, que diable!  He called me a coward—­it is very hot weather!—­there were drinks at the Kurhaus—­I am her guardian—­the affair is a very beastly one—­there were more drinks—­I was a little enfin!” He shrugged his shoulders.  “Adieu, my dear; I shall be some time in Vienna; I need rest!” He rose and went to the door; then he turned, and waved his cigar.  “Adieu!  Be good; get well!  I will buy you some cigars up there.”  And going out, he shut the door on any possibility of answer.

Mr. Treffry lay back amongst his cushions.  The clock ticked; pigeons cooed on the veranda; a door opened in the distance, and for a moment a treble voice was heard.  Mr. Treffry’s head drooped forward; across his face, gloomy and rugged, fell a thin line of sunlight.

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.