Breakfast time soon came, and the doctor joined them as before, ready to answer the first question asked as to how his patient had passed the night.
“For the most part talking.”
“Then he is better?” cried Bourne.
“In a way—yes,” replied the doctor solemnly, and every eye was fixed upon him now, as Wilton said sharply—
“You mean that he is worse?”
“No: better for him, poor fellow,” said the doctor sadly. “Nothing whatever could be done, and he was in horrible pain. It is all over now.”
“You don’t mean to say—” began Wilton, and stopped short.
“Dead?” said Bourne, in a solemn whisper.
“Yes,” said the doctor gravely. “The agony he was in passed away about dawn, leaving him calm, patient, and quite in his right senses, talking to me long and earnestly for quite three hours, before he turned away and with a low restful sigh went off to sleep—to wake no more.”
“You say he talked to you a good deal,” said Bourne; “did he say anything about how he came to be in such a terrible state?”