"O'Grady," said the officer of the day, in a tone gentle as that he would have employed in speaking to a woman, "come out here to me. I'm afraid you are sick."
Shaking, trembling, twitching in every limb, with wild, dilated eyes and almost palsied step, O'Grady came out.
"Look to him a moment, sergeant," said Mr. Billings, and, bending low, he stepped into the cell. The atmosphere was stifling, and in another instant he backed out into the hall-way. "Sergeant, was it by the commanding officer's order that O'Grady was put in there?"
"No, sir; Captain Buxton's."
"See that he is not returned there during my tour, unless the orders come from Major Stannard. Bring O'Grady into the prison-room."
Here in the purer air and brighter light he looked carefully over the poor fellow, as the latter stood before him quivering from head to foot and hiding his face in his shaking hands. Then the lieutenant took him gently by the arm and led him to a bunk:
"O'Grady, man, lie down here. I'm going to get something that will help you. Tell me one thing: how long had you been drinking before you were confined?"
"About forty-eight hours, sir, off and on."
"How long since you ate anything?"
"I don't know, sir; not for two days, I think."