He almost yelled the last words as he started to his feet again, his eyes wild, his right hand clinched, and his left thrust into the breast, as if in search of a weapon.
“I heard nothing,” said the doctor. “Sit down.”
“Some one in the street trying to get in.”
“No, no, no. Sit down, my dear boy. Come, come: what’s the matter?”
“Are you sure you cannot hear any one?”
“Quite, and even if I could, no one could get in without I opened the door.”
“Hah!” ejaculated the young man, sinking down; “brandy! for God’s sake, brandy!”
The doctor looked at him, hesitated, and ended by laying his hand upon his visitor’s pulse, as he sat gazing strangely at the door.
If the doctor’s soft touch had been that of white-hot iron the effect could not have been greater, for with a smothered shriek the young man sprang from his chair and stood at bay by the door.
“Why, Mark Heath, my good fellow, this will not do,” said the doctor blandly. “There, there, come and sit down. I was only feeling your pulse.”