No more was said. The man was shown to his room, whither he retired with his wife and sick child. The room, it so happened, was next to mine, and the two rooms communicated by a door, which was of course closed and fastened.
The emaciated child and anxious mother presented a sight that fixed itself upon my mind, and excited my liveliest sympathies. I could not get them from my thoughts.
About ten o'clock that night, I took a candle and went to my room. Before undressing myself, I sat down at a table to make some entries of collections and expenses, and to think over and arrange my business for the next day. All was still, except now and then a slight movement in the next chamber, where the parents were sitting up with their sick child.
"What did you give him last?" I heard the father say, in a low, but distinct tone.
"Aconite," was as distinctly replied.
This I knew to be a deadly poison. I listened, you may be sure, with a more earnest attention.
"How many grains?" was next asked.
"Two," replied the mother.
Two grains of aconite! My hair began to rise. "I think we had better increase the dose to five grains."
Horrible!