Benedict saw that his patient was getting excited, and he mixed another draught, which the father absolutely refused to take.
"Oh, dear, I'm dying, dying," he gasped.
"Tut, man! rubbish. There's life enough left yet in you. We shall be out together again in a day or two."
"Send for another brother," pursued the unfortunate man. "I am dying; my end has come, and I know it."
"Tut, man!" returned the knight, "I tell you you will be better soon."
"A witch told me I should die like this," continued the father obstinately, "and the time has come. I am too old to survive it now."
"Go to sleep, father," interrupted Manners, "you ought not to talk now; you want rest."
"Yes, sleep," assented à Woode.
"I cannot, I am dying," he gasped; and he groaned in agony again and again.
"Father Philip," interposed Dorothy, "you must rest yourself. Master Manners is a soldier and has seen many hurt like you, and even worse; you must do his bidding an you would get well again."