"Aylmer is asleep," he said. "I didn't disturb him. What I have to say must keep. You need not have been so chuff in your manner just now, Keith. I am glad to hand over the case to you for to-night. You are good-natured, and Aylmer is fond of you. I hope the poor boy will pull through. What does the doctor say?"
"Armstrong says it is a critical case."
Strause's face looked grave.
"He is right," he replied, after a pause. "None of Aylmer's family are sound. The father and mother died young. Well, poor chap, he has an abundance of this world's pelf: it will be a pity if he does not live to enjoy it. I will look round in the morning. Bye-bye for the present."
Strause's manner was friendly, and Keith reproached himself for the marked dislike he felt towards him. Presently he softly entered the sickroom, and sat down. Aylmer was sleeping. He awoke presently, and said in a drowsy tone,—
"My eyes hurt me; can you do without a candle in the room?"
"Certainly," replied Keith. "I will have a light in your sitting-room, and the door between the two rooms can be open."
"I am better, I think," said Aylmer, after a pause. "Is it time for my medicine?"
"Not for half an hour," replied Keith. "Go to sleep; I won't wake you if you happen to be asleep. The doctor says it is not necessary."
Aylmer closed his eyes and lay still. In a few minutes he moved fretfully, and said in a voice full of pain,—