“He must have brandy or he will die. The system is pumped out. He must be revived,” said the doctor. He reached again for the glass of spirits.
Jim understood now. He was on the borderland between life and death, his feet were at the brink. “No—not—brandy, no!” he moaned. “Sally—Sally, kiss me,” he said, faintly, from the middle world in which he was.
“Quick, the broth!” said Sewell to the factor, who had been preparing it. “Quick, while there’s a chance.” He stooped and called into Jim’s ear: “For the love of God, wake up, sir. They’re coming—they’re both coming—Nancy’s coming. They’ll soon be here.” What matter that he lied?—a life was at stake.
Jim’s eyes opened again. The doctor was standing with the brandy in his hand. Half madly Jim reached out. “I must live until they come,” he cried; “the brandy—ah, give it! Give it—ah, no, no, I must not,” he added, gasping, his lips trembling, his hands shaking.
Sewell held the broth to his lips. He drank a little, yet his face became grayer and grayer; a bluish tinge spread about his mouth.
“Have you nothing else, sir?” asked Sewell, in despair.
The doctor put down the brandy, went quickly to his medicine-case, dropped into a glass some liquid from a phial, came over again, and poured a little between the lips; then a little more, as Jim’s eyes opened again; and at last every drop in the glass trickled down the sinewy throat.
Presently as they watched him the doctor said: “It will not do. He must have brandy. It has life—food—in it.”
Jim understood the words. He knew that if he drank the brandy the chances against his future were terrible. He had made his vow, and he must keep it. Yet the thirst was on him; his enemy had him by the throat again, was dragging him down. Though his body was so cold, his throat was on fire. But in the extremity of his strength his mind fought on—fought on, growing weaker every moment. He was having his last fight. They watched him with an aching anxiety, and there was anger in the doctor’s face. He had no patience with these forces arrayed against him.
At last the doctor whispered to Sewell, “It’s no use; he must have the brandy, or he can’t live an hour.”