Humouring my patient, I sent word to the stranger that I could not see him, but, in an undertone, instructed the servant to say that the man might call at my office the next morning. Then, turning to Burwell, I begged him to compose himself and save his strength for the ordeal awaiting him.
"No, no," he said, "I need my strength now to tell you what you must know to find the truth. You are the only man who has understood that there has been some terrible influence at work in my life. You are the only man competent to study out what that influence is, and I have made provision in my will that you shall do so after I am gone. I know that you will heed my wishes?"
The intense sadness of his eyes made my heart sink; I could only grip his hand and remain silent.
"Thank you; I was sure I might count on your devotion. Now, tell me, doctor, you have examined me carefully, have you not?"
I nodded.
"In every way known to medical science?"
I nodded again.
"And have you found anything wrong with me,—I mean, besides this bullet, anything abnormal?"
"As I have told you, your eyesight is defective; I should like to examine your eyes more thoroughly when you are better."
"I shall never be better; besides it isn't my eyes; I mean myself, my soul,—you haven't found anything wrong there?"