ongst us prisoners that was not honourable as the day."

"All right," says he. "That was all I wanted. You can go now,
Champdivers."

And as I was going out he added, with a laugh: "By the bye, I ought to
apologise: I had no idea I was applying the torture!"

The same afternoon the doctor came into the courtyard with a piece of
paper in his hand. He seemed hot and angry, and had certainly no mind to
be polite.

"Here!" he cried. "Which of you fellows knows any English? O!"--spying
me--"there you are, what's your name! _You_'ll do. Tell these fellows
that the other fellow's dying. He's booked; no use talking; I expect
he'll go by evening. And tell them I don't envy the feelings of the
fellow who spiked him. Tell them that first."

I did so.

"Then you can tell 'em," he resumed, "that the fellow, Goggle--what's
his name?--wants to see some of them before he gets his marching orders.
If I got it right, he wants to kiss or embrace you, or some sickening
stuff. Got that? Then here's a list he's had written, and you'd better
read it out to them--I can't make head or tail of your beastly
names--and they can answer _present_, and fall in against that wall."

It was with a singular movement of incongruous feelings that I read the
first name on the list. I had no wish to look again on my own handiwork;
my flesh recoiled from the idea; and how could I be sure what reception
he designed to give me? The cure was in my own hand; I could pass that
first name over--the doctor would not know--and I might stay away. But
to the subsequent great gladness of my heart, I did not dwell for an
instant on the thought, walked over to the designated wall, faced about,
read out the name "Champdivers," and answered myself with the word
"Present."

There were some half-dozen on the list, all told; and as soon as we were
mustered, the doctor led the way to the hospital, and we followed after,
like a fatigue-party, in single file. At the door he paused, told us
"the fellow" would see each of us alone, and, as soon as I had explained
that, sent me by myself into the ward. It was a small room, whitewashed;
a south window stood open on a vast depth of air and a spacious and
distant prospect; and from deep below, in the Grassmarket, the voices of
hawkers came up clear and far away. Hard by, on a little bed, lay
Goguelat. The sunburn had not yet faded from his face, and the stamp of
death was already there. There was something wild and unmannish i