"I must open another vein," he murmured as if in a dream.
When he had swallowed a third teaspoonful, he lifted his eyelids in a dreary kind of way, saw Polwarth, and remembered that he had something to attend to—a patient at the moment on his hands, probably—he could not tell.
"Tut! give me a wine-glass of the stuff," he said.
Polwarth obeyed. The moment he swallowed it, he rose, rubbing his forehead as if trying to remember, and mechanically turned toward the bed. The nurse, afraid he might not yet know what he was about, stepped between, saying softly,
"She is asleep, sir, and breathing quietly."
"Thank God!" he whispered with a sigh, and turning to a couch, laid himself gently upon it.
The nurse looked at Polwarth, as much as to say: "Who is to take the command now?"
"I shall be outside, nurse: call me if I can be useful to you," he replied to the glance, and withdrew to his watch on the top of the stair.
After about a quarter of an hour, the nurse came out.
"Do you want me?" said Polwarth, rising hastily.