"To keep me alive. Spreckley can't do it. You must. Now, don't say another word till you have examined me."
Not another word did Dr. Jago utter for a quarter of an hour, beyond asking certain questions in connection with the malady. This over, he sat down by the bedside and drew a long breath.
"Well, what's the verdict? Out with it," added the Squire grimly, the old hungry, wistful look rising in his eyes.
"I suppose you want to hear the truth and nothing but the truth, Mr. Denison?" said Dr. Jago.
"That is precisely what I do want to hear. Why not?"
"Then, sir, I think it most probable that Dr. Spreckley is correct. I fear I can only confirm his opinion."
There was a moment or two of silence.
"Then you say, with him, that I shall not live to see the twenty-fourth of April?"
"There is, of course, a possibility that you may do so," replied Dr. Jago, "but the probabilities are all the other way. I am very sorry, sir, to have to tell you this."
"Keep your sorrow until you are asked for it," returned the Squire, drily. "Perhaps you will pour me out half a glass of that Madeira. I am not so strong as I should like to be."