“How long has he been like this?”
“I found him so a quarter—half an hour since,” said Sir Philip. “He had left me an hour before that.”
“Humph!” said the doctor. “Any reason for thinking he would commit suicide?”
“H’m—no!” said Sir Philip, hesitating; “but he has, I fear, been suffering a great deal of mental pain.”
“Any bottle or packet about?” said the doctor—“bottle, I should say. No strong odour existent; but it seems like a narcotic poison at work.”
“I found this,” said Sir Philip, producing the little flask he had taken from the table.
“To be sure—exactly—graduated too! My dear sir, I don’t think there is any cause for alarm. He has evidently taken a strong dose; but, you see, here are ample instructions, and the bottle is nearly empty.”
“But he may have taken all that,” said Sir Philip anxiously.
“My dear sir,” said the doctor, “if he had taken one-eighth part, he would not be lying as you now see him. Depend upon it, that after a few hours he will wake calm and composed, when, if you are, as I suppose from the likeness,”—here the doctor bowed,—“his father, a little quiet advice would not be out of place. It is a bad sign for a fine young man like this to be resorting to such subtle agencies to procure rest. Depend upon it, his brain is in a sad state. I should advise change.”
“But do you not think that you had better wait?” said Sir Philip anxiously.