He looked around, and repeated:
“It is better for all these kind friends to withdraw now, as my patient will need absolute quiet. Her maid, of course, will remain.”
They all stole away very quietly, and he began to prepare a soothing potion for his strangely beautiful patient.
He was startled when she murmured:
“Doctor, you may give me something to strengthen me, but I will not take an opiate.”
“But, my dear lady—” he began, only to be interrupted by a feeble but resolute voice:
“No buts, my dear doctor, for my maid here can tell you that no one ever disputes my will. I must be strengthened, I tell you, for in a few minutes I shall go into the next room to visit your fatally injured patient. He is an old—friend—of mine, and I shall get you to send a telegram for me summoning his relations to his death-bed.”
“His sister is here,” he replied, pressing to her lips the strengthening draught she demanded.
She swallowed it, sighed and replied:
“There are others, sir—a daughter for one, and—but, Janetta, bring pencil and paper, and copy what I dictate.”