Doctor and Friend.
A wonderful stillness seemed to have fallen, and not even a bird twittered or uttered a note in the hot midsummer sunshine. Once from the distance came the low soft murmur of the weir, but that died away, and scarcely a leaf rustled, so that when the doctor spoke, his firm deep tones sounded as if all nature in that lovely country-home were listening for the verdict he was about to deliver to the stricken man.
“James Scarlett,” he said firmly, “I hold a double position here: I am your old friend—I am your doctor.”
“Yes,” said Scarlett in a whisper, but without changing his position.
“I am going to speak the simple truth; I am going to hide nothing. I am about to give you plain facts. Will you trust me?”
“Yes. I have always trusted you.”
“Will you believe me? I need not swear?”
“No, Jack, no,” said Scarlett, letting his hands fall from his haggard face. “I believe your word: I do indeed.”
“You asked me not to leave you.”
“Yes: for heaven’s sake, stay.”