“I thought as much,” said Cousin Thompson, who, while he played with the bottle, watched North narrowly.
“But,” added the doctor impressively, “I should make my will first, if I were you.”
“Why?”
“Because to-morrow morning you would be past the power of doing so.”
“Oh, I say, old fellow, is it so bad as that? Make my will, eh? Physician, heal thyself! Why, you haven’t made yours.”
“No,” said North quietly; “I have not made mine. Good night, I am going to my room.”
“One moment—shall I see you to-morrow?”
“No.”
“Well, the next day, then?”
“Doubtful,” said North hurriedly, and he walked brusquely by his cousin to hurry to the staircase, and up to his own room.