eason, I suppose, you are all trying to smother him!" said
my father angrily. "Mistress Cobbe, I beg you will not trouble yourself
to pour that brandy down the man's throat. He has no more power to
swallow it than my stick. Basil, open the window, and help me to loosen
these things about his throat. Good people, all, I must request you to
leave the room. This man's life is in peril, and I can do nothing while
you remain. Go home--go home. You will see no more conjuring to-night."

My father was peremptory, and the crowd unwillingly dispersed. One by
one they left the room and gathered discontentedly in the passage. When
it came to the last two or three, he took them by the shoulders, closed
the door upon them, and turned the key.

Only the landlady, and elderly woman-servant, and myself remained.

The first thing my father did was to examine the pupil of the patient's
eye, and lay his hand upon his heart. It still fluttered feebly, but the
action of the lungs was suspended, and his hands and feet were cold
as death.

My father shook his head.

"This man must be bled," said he, "but I have little hope of saving
him."

He was bled, and, though still unconscious, became less rigid They then
poured a little wine down his throat, and he fell into a passive but
painless condition, more inanimate than sleep, but less positive than a
state of trance.

A fire was then lighted, a mattress brought down, and the patient laid
upon it, wrapped in many blankets. My father announced his intention of
sitting up with him all night. In vain I begged for leave to share his
vigil. He would hear of no such thing, but turned me out as he had
turned out the others, bade me a brief "Good-night," and desired me to
run home as quickly as I could.

At that stage of my history, to hear was to obey; so I took my way
quietly through the bar of the hotel, and had just reached the door when
a touch on my sleeve arrested me. It was Mr. Cobbe, the landlord--a
portly, red-whiskered Boniface of the old English type.

"Good-evening, Mr. Basil," said he. "Going home, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Cobbe," I replied. "I can be of no further use here."

"Well, sir, you've been of more use this evening than anybody--let alone
the Doctor--that I must say for you," observed Mr. Cobbe, approvingly.
"I never see such presence o' mind in so young a gen'leman before.
Never, sir. Have a glass of grog and a cigar, sir, before you turn out."

Much as I felt flattered by