"My lord, he sleeps at present; it would be highly dangerous, at this particular juncture, to expose him to the slightest agitation."
"You are deceiving me, and he is dead! He has been murdered! And I—I am the wretched cause of it!" cried Rodolph, in a tone of agony, raising his clasped hands towards heaven.
"My lord knows that his servant is incapable of a falsehood. I assert by my honour, that, although severely wounded, Murphy lives, and that his chance of recovery is all but certain."
"You say that but to prepare me for more disastrous tidings; he lies, doubtless, wounded past all hope; and he, my faithful friend, will die!"
"My lord—"
"Yes, you are seeking to deceive me till all is over. But I will see him,—I will judge for myself; the sight of a friend cannot be hurtful. Let me be instantly removed to his chamber."
"Once more, my lord, I pledge my solemn assurance, that, barring chances not likely to occur, Murphy will soon be convalescent."
"My dear David, may I indeed believe you?"
"You may, indeed, my lord."
"Hear me. You know the high opinion I entertain of your ability and knowledge, and that, from the hour in which you were attached to my household, you have possessed my most unbounded confidence,—never, for one instant, have I doubted your great skill and perfect acquaintance with your profession; but I conjure you, if a consultation be necessary—"