"Good! I wish to know what is the matter with me."
A few moments later, he was seized with a fresh attack of delirium, and when he recovered consciousness, he remarked—
"I begin to believe I am seriously ill. If I am to die sooner than I expected, I desire to give you some instructions. Will you be sure to carry them out for me?"
"Oh, my lord, you can be sure of my faithfulness," the valet replied; "but you will live for long enough yet, I hope, and be able to attend to your own affairs."
"No," said Byron, shaking his head; "no, the end has come.... I must tell you everything, Fletcher, and without a moment's loss of time."
"Shall I fetch pen and ink and paper, my lord?" asked the valet.
"Oh no; we should waste too much time, and we have none to lose. Pay attention."
"I am listening, my lord."
"Your future is assured."
"Oh! my lord," cried the poor valet, bursting into tears, "I entreat you to think of more important matters."