“He never ordered it me,” said Alfred. Then fixing his eyes sternly on Cooper, “You miscreants, you want to poison me. No, I will not take it. Murder! murder!”
Then ensued a struggle, on which I draw a veil: but numbers won the day, with the help of handcuffs and a cowhorn.
Brown went and told Mrs. Archbold, and what Alfred had said.
“Don't be alarmed,” said that strong-minded lady: “it is only one of the old fool's composing draughts. It will spoil the poor boy's sleep for one night, that is all. Go to him the first thing in the morning.”
About midnight Alfred was seized with a violent headache and fever: towards morning he was light-headed, and Brown found him loud and incoherent: only he returned often to an expression Mr. Brown had never heard before—
“Justifiable parricide. Justifiable parricide. Justifiable patricide.”
Most people dislike new phrases. Brown ran to consult Mrs. Archbold about this one. After the delay inseparable from her sex, she came in a morning wrapper; and they found Alfred leaning over the bed and bleeding violently at the nose. They were a good deal alarmed, and tried to stop it: but Alfred was quite sensible now, and told them it was doing him good.
“I can manage to see now,” he said; “a little while ago I was blind with the poison.”
They unstrapped his ankle and made him comfortable, and Mrs. Archbold sent Brown for a cup of strong coffee and a glass of brandy. He tossed them off; and soon after fell into a deep sleep that lasted till tea-time. This sleep the poor doctor ascribed to the sedative effect of his opiate. It was the natural exhaustion consequent on the morbid excitement caused by his cursed opiate.
“Brown,” said Mrs. Archbold, “if Dr. Bailey prescribes again, let me know. He shan't square this patient with his certificates, whilst I am here.”