"Sermons, do you mean?" interposed the Baronet.
"Well, what's better?—a little of the Bible?"
"Come now, Dives, those doctors have been shaking their heads over me. I say, you must tell me. Do they say I'm in a bad way?"
"They think you'll recover."
"Did they tell you what it is?"
"Yes. A wound."
"They had no business, d—— them," said Sir Jekyl, flushing.
"Don't, don't, my dear Jekyl; they could not help it. I pressed that doctor—I forget his name—and he really could not help saying."
"Well, well, it doesn't much signify; I'd have told you myself by-and-by. But you must not tell—I've a reason—you must not tell anyone, mind. It was my fault, and I'm greatly to blame; and I'll tell you in a little while—a day or two—all about it."
"Yes, so you can. But, my dear Jekyl, you look much fatigued; you are exerting yourself."