Seeing the wild light in Burwell's eyes, and the fever that was burning him, I gave the promise asked of me, and the sick man sank back calmer.
A little later, the nurse and attendants came for the operation. As they were about to administer the ether, Burwell pushed them from him, and insisted on having brought to his bedside an iron box from the safe.
"The card is here," he said, laying his trembling hand upon the box, "you will remember your promise!"
Those were his last words, for he did not survive the operation.
Early the next morning I received this message: "The stranger of yesterday begs to see you"; and presently a gentleman of fine presence and strength of face, a tall, dark-complexioned man wearing glasses, was shown into the room.
"Mr. Burwell is dead, is he not?" were his first words.
"Who told you?"
"No one told me, but I know it, and I thank God for it."
There was something in the stranger's intense earnestness that convinced me of his right to speak thus, and I listened attentively.
"That you may have confidence in the statement I am about to make, I will first tell you who I am"; and he handed me a card that caused me to lift my eyes in wonder, for it bore a very great name, that of one of Europe's most famous savants.