William asked to see the prescription. It was produced, and he read its contents—he was as capable of doing so and of understanding it as the best doctor in Helstonleigh. He tore a leaf from his pocket-book, wrote a few words in pencil, folded it with the prescription, and desired one of the women to take it to the chemist's again. He then went up to the sick room.
Tyrrett was lying on a flock mattress, on an ugly brown bedstead, the four posts upright and undraped. A blanket and a checked blue cotton quilt covered him. His breathing was terribly laboured, his face painfully anxious. William approached him, bending his head, to avoid contact with the ceiling.
"I'm a-going, sir," cried the man, in tones as anxious as his face. "I'm a-going at last."
"I hope not," said William. "I hope you will get better. You are to have a blister on your chest, and——"
"No he ain't, sir," interrupted one of the men. "Darwin won't send it."
"Oh yes, he will, if he is properly asked. They have gone again to him. Are you in much pain, Tyrrett?"
"I'm in an agony of pain here, sir," pointing to his chest. "But that ain't nothing to my pain of mind. Oh, Mr. Halliburton, you're good, sir; you haven't nothing to reproach yourself with; can't you do nothing for me? I'm going into the sight of my Maker, and He's angry with me!"
In truth, William knew not what to answer. Tyrrett's voice was as a wail of anguish; his hands were stretched out beseechingly.
"Charlotte East were here just now, and she told me to go to Christ—that He was merciful and forgiving. But how am I to go to Him? If I try, sir, I can't, for there's my past life rising up before me. I have been a bad man: I have never once in all my life tried to please God."
The words echoed through the stillness of the room; echoed with a sound that was terribly awful. Never once to have tried to please God! Throughout a whole life, and throughout all its blessings!