“He said he had only just heard of your illness, and was very sorry—would call again.”
A strange look of satisfaction came into the old man’s colourless face, and a low sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes again.
“Would you like to see him?” inquired the doctor.
The patient shook his head without raising his lids, and the room was still once more. Presently the other physician departed and the one who was left installed himself in a comfortable chair from which he could see the bed and the door. During half an hour no sound was heard save the muffled roar of the wood fire. At last the sick man stirred again.
“Doctor—come here,” he said in a harsh whisper.
“What is it, Mr. Craik?”
“Send for Trimm at once.”
“Mrs. Trimm, did you say?”
“No—Sherry Trimm himself—make my will—see? Quick.”
The physician stared at his patient for a moment in very considerable surprise, for he thought he had reason to suppose that Thomas Craik’s will had been made already, and now he half suspected that the old man’s mind was wandering. He hesitated.