aid Lowe.
'Doctor Toole, Sir, has told you the bright side of the case. It is
necessary, making the deposition you propose, that you should know
t'other.'

'Yes, of course--quite right--go on,' said Sturk faintly.

'Why, you know,' said Toole, sniffing, and a little sulkily, 'you know,
Doctor Sturk, we, doctors, like to put the best foot foremost; but you
can't but be aware, that with the fractures--_two_ fractures--along the
summit of the skull, and the operation by the trepan, behind your head,
just accomplished, there must be, of course, some danger.'

'I see. Sir,' said Sturk, very quietly, but looking awfully cadaverous;
'all I want to know is, how long you think I may live?'

'You may recover altogether, Sir--you may--but, of course--you
may--there's a chance; and things might not go right,' said Toole,
taking snuff.

'I see--Sir--'tis enough'--and there was a pause. 'I'd like to have the
sacrament, and pray with the clergyman a little--Lord help me!--and my
will--only a few words--I don't suppose there's much left me; but
there's a power of appointment--a reversion of L600, stock--I'm tired.'

'Here, take this,' said Toole, and put half-a-dozen spoonsful of claret
and water into his lips, and he seemed to revive a little. 'There's no
immediate hurry--upon my honour, Doctor Sturk, there isn't,' said Toole.
'Just rest aisy a bit; you're disturbed a good deal, Sir; your pulse
shows it; and you need not, I assure you, upon my conscience and
honour--'tis quite on the cards you may recover.'

And as he spoke, Toole was dropping something from a phial into a
wine-glass--sal volatile--ether--I can't say; but when Dr. Sturk
swallowed it there was a 'potter-carrier's' aroma about the room.

Then there was a pause for a while, and Toole kept his fingers on his
pulse; and Sturk looked, for some time, as if he were on the point of
fainting, which, in his case, might have proved very like dying.

'Have you the claret bottle in the room?' demanded Toole, a little
flurried; for Sturk's pulses were playing odd pranks, and bounding and
sinking in a dance of death.

'The what, Sir?' asked the maid.

'The _wine_, woman--this instant,' said the doctor, with a little stamp.

So, the moment he had the bottle, he poured out half a large glass, and
began spooning it into Sturk's white parted lips.

Lowe looked on very uneasily; for he expected, as Toole did also,
prodigious revelations; though each had a suspicion that he