ured to put his hand to the place
where his dire enemy usually was concealed. Sir Roger, however, was
too weak now to be his own master; he was at length, though too late,
a captive in the hands of nurses and doctors, and the bottle had now
been removed.

Then Lady Scatcherd came in, and seeing that her husband was no
longer unconscious, she could not but believe that Dr Thorne had been
wrong; she could not but think that there must be some ground for
hope. She threw herself on her knees at the bedside, bursting into
tears as she did so, and taking Sir Roger's hand in hers covered it
with kisses.

"Bother!" said Sir Roger.

She did not, however, long occupy herself with the indulgence of her
feelings; but going speedily to work, produced such sustenance as
the doctors had ordered to be given when the patient might awake. A
breakfast-cup was brought to him, and a few drops were put into his
mouth; but he soon made it manifest that he would take nothing more
of a description so perfectly innocent.

"A drop of brandy--just a little drop," said he, half-ordering, and
half-entreating.

"Ah, Roger!" said Lady Scatcherd.

"Just a little drop, Louis," said the sick man, appealing to his son.

"A little will be good for him; bring the bottle, mother," said the
son.

After some altercation the brandy bottle was brought, and Louis, with
what he thought a very sparing hand, proceeded to pour about half a
wine-glassful into the cup. As he did so, Sir Roger, weak as he was,
contrived to shake his son's arm, so as greatly to increase the dose.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the sick man, and then greedily swallowed the
dose.

CHAPTER XXV

Sir Roger Dies

That night the doctor stayed at Boxall Hill, and the next night;
so that it became a customary thing for him to sleep there during
the latter part of Sir Roger's illness. He returned home daily to
Greshamsbury; for he had his patients there, to whom he was as
necessary as to Sir Roger, the foremost of whom was Lady Arabella. He
had, therefore, no slight work on his hands, seeing that his nights
were by no means wholly devoted to rest.

Mr Rerechild had not been much wrong as to the remaining space of
life which he had allotted to the dying man. Once or twice Dr Thorne
had thought that the great original strength of his patient would
have enabled him to fight against death for a somewhat longer period;
but Sir Roger would give himself no chance. Whenever he was stron