Chapter Thirty.
The Last.
“And you gave him enough to keep him in that insensible state?” said Dr Thorpe next night, after seeing and treating Armstrong, who lay in a weak, half-delirious state.
Cornel nodded and gazed wildly at her brother, who continued—
“To keep him from going abroad to fight this duel?”
“Yes, I felt sure that the Conte would kill him.”
“And serve him right. Well,” he went on, as his sister winced at his harsh words, “this proves the truth of the saying—‘A little knowledge is a dangerous thing,’ You know a bit about narcotics and anaesthetics, and you may congratulate yourself upon not having killed him. But there, perhaps, it was right; and anyhow, you have saved him.”
“You think he will recover now?” she cried eagerly.
“Think so? Oh yes! of course. Nothing to prevent him. Only wants time. But it’s nothing to you.”
“How is the Contessa?”