vagely. 'This is an ugly
jest, sir.'

"The sick man, evidently more startled by the violence of the manner
than by the words themselves, looked from one to the other of us all
round the table.

"'Forgive me, old fellow,' burst in Towers, with an attempt to laugh;
'but the whole of this day, I can't say why or how, but everything
irritates and chafes me. I really believe that we all eat and drink too
well here. We live like fighting-cocks, and, of course, are always ready
for conflict.'

"We all did our best to forget the unpleasant interruption of a few
minutes back, and talked away with a sort of over-eagerness. But Hawke
never spoke; there he sat, turning his glazed, filmy look from one to
the other, as though in vain trying to catch up something of what went
forward. He looked so ill--so fearfully ill, all the while, that it
seemed a shame to sit carousing there around him, and so I whispered to
Collins; but Towers overheard me, and said,

"'All wrong. _You_ don't know what tough material he is made of. This
is the very thing to rally him,--eh, Godfrey?' cried he, louder. 'I
'm telling these fellows that you 'll be all the better for coming down
amongst us, and that when I've made you a brew of that milk-punch you
are so fond of--'

"'It won't burn my throat, will it?' whined out the sick man.

"'Burn your throat! not a bit of it; but warm your blood up, give
energy to your heart, and brace your nerves, so that before the bowl is
finished you 'll sing us "Tom Hall;" or, better still, "That rainy day I
met her,"--

"That rainy day I met her,
When she tripped along the street,
And, with petticoat half lifted,
Showed a dainty pair of feet."

"'How does it go?' said he, trying to catch the tune.

"A ghastly grin--an expression more horrible than I ever saw on a human
face before--was Hawke's recognition of this appeal to him, and, beating
his fingers feebly on the table, he seemed trying to recall the air.

"'I can't stand this any longer,' whispered Wake to me; 'the man is
dying!'

"'Confound you for a fool!' said Towers, angrily. 'You 'll see what
a change an hour will make in him. I 've got the receipt for that
milk-punch up in my room. I 'll go and fetch it' And with this he arose,
and hastily left the room.

"'Where's Tom?' said the sick man, with a look of painful eagerness.
'Where is he?'

"'He's gone for the receipt of the milk-punch; he's going to make a brew
for you!' sai