He had found time to open the corner cupboard and bring out a great case bottle of aqua vitae, and now sat with his back towards me at the table.  Ever and again he would be seized with a fit of deadly shuddering and groan aloud, and carrying the bottle to his lips, drink down the raw spirits by the mouthful.

I stepped forward, came close behind him where he sat, and suddenly clapping my two hands down upon his shoulders—­“Ah!” cried I.

My uncle gave a kind of broken cry like a sheep’s bleat, flung up his arms, and tumbled to the floor like a dead man.  I was somewhat shocked at this; but I had myself to look to first of all, and did not hesitate to let him lie as he had fallen.  The keys were hanging in the cupboard; and it was my design to furnish myself with arms before my uncle should come again to his senses and the power of devising evil.  In the cupboard were a few bottles, some apparently of medicine; a great many bills and other papers, which I should willingly enough have rummaged, had I had the time; and a few necessaries that were nothing to my purpose.  Thence I turned to the chests.  The first was full of meal; the second of moneybags and papers tied into sheaves; in the third, with many other things (and these for the most part clothes) I found a rusty, ugly-looking Highland dirk without the scabbard.  This, then, I concealed inside my waistcoat, and turned to my uncle.

He lay as he had fallen, all huddled, with one knee up and one arm sprawling abroad; his face had a strange colour of blue, and he seemed to have ceased breathing.  Fear came on me that he was dead; then I got water and dashed it in his face; and with that he seemed to come a little to himself, working his mouth and fluttering his eyelids.  At last he looked up and saw me, and there came into his eyes a terror that was not of this world.

“Come, come,” said I; “sit up.”

“Are ye alive?” he sobbed.  “O man, are ye alive?”

“That am I,” said I.  “Small thanks to you!”

He had begun to seek for his breath with deep sighs.  “The blue phial,” said he—­“in the aumry—­the blue phial.”  His breath came slower still.

I ran to the cupboard, and, sure enough, found there a blue phial of medicine, with the dose written on it on a paper, and this I administered to him with what speed I might.

“It’s the trouble,” said he, reviving a little; “I have a trouble, Davie.  It’s the heart.”

I set him on a chair and looked at him.  It is true I felt some pity for a man that looked so sick, but I was full besides of righteous anger; and I numbered over before him the points on which I wanted explanation:  why he lied to me at every word; why he feared that I should leave him; why he disliked it to be hinted that he and my father were twins—­“Is that because it is true?” I asked; why he had given me money to which I was convinced I had no claim; and, last of all, why he had tried to kill me.  He heard me all through in silence; and then, in a broken voice, begged me to let him go to bed.