"As I feared," he said, apart to Robert Grantham; "he will last but a few hours."
Robert Grantham asked him what his fee was. The doctor shook his head, and said:
"I have done nothing; I could do nothing. Permit me to play my humble part in your kind charity. Good-night."
He shook hands with them, put Billy in an easy position, and left them.
"It isn't altogether a bad world, Robert," observed Rathbeal.
"It is what we make it," replied Robert Grantham, with a heavy sigh.
"That will not apply to the poor outcast lying there," said Rathbeal, looking at Billy.
"True, true," rejoined Grantham. "I was thinking of my own life."
Rathbeal had the intention, when Mr. Fox-Cordery left him, of saying something about his visit, but this sad adventure had put it out of his head. He thought of his intention now, when Robert Grantham said the world was what we made it; and he resolved that before many days had passed he would invite his friend's confidence in a direct way. In the presence of death he could not do so, and he set the matter aside for the present.
Their copying was finished at three o'clock, and Rathbeal gathered the pages, and put them in order. There had been no apparent change in the lad, but the solemnity of the scene impressed the men deeply. The house was very quiet, and no sound came to them from the street. They had endeavored, without success, to obtain from Billy some information of his relations. Either he did not or would not understand them, for he gave them no intelligible replies to their questions. They decided to make another effort during the next interval of consciousness, and, sitting by his bedside, they watched their opportunity. It came as Rathbeal's watch pointed to the hour of four. Billy raised his lids; his hands moved feebly. The men inclined their ears. Rathbeal left it to Robert Grantham to speak.