she could not
speak. Poots ordered her to be carried upstairs and put to bed, and
pouring some acids down her throat, hastened away with Philip to
procure the necessary remedies.

"You will give your mother that directly, Mynheer Philip," said Poots,
putting a phial into his hand; "I will now go to the child of the
burgomaster, and will afterwards come back to your cottage."

"Don't deceive me," said Philip, with a threatening look.

"No, no, Mynheer Philip, I would not trust to your uncle Van Brennen
for payment, but you have promised, and I know that you always keep
your word. In one hour I will be with your mother; but you yourself
must now be quick."

Philip hastened home. After the potion had been administered, the
bleeding was wholly stopped; and in half an hour, his mother could
express her wishes in a whisper. When the little doctor arrived, he
carefully examined his patient, and then went downstairs with her son
into the kitchen.

"Mynheer Philip," said Poots, "by Allah! I have done my best, but I
must tell you that I have little hopes of your mother rising from her
bed again. She may live one day or two days, but not more. It is not
my fault, Mynheer Philip," continued Poots, in a deprecating tone.

"No, no; it is the will of Heaven," replied Philip, mournfully.

"And you will pay me, Mynheer Vanderdecken?" continued the doctor,
after a short pause.

"Yes," replied Philip in a voice of thunder, and starting from a
reverie. After a moment's silence, the doctor recommenced.

"Shall I come to-morrow, Mynheer Philip? You know that will be a
charge of another guilder: it is of no use to throw away money or time
either."

"Come to-morrow, come every hour, charge what you please; you shall
certainly be paid," replied Philip, curling his lip with contempt.

"Well, it is as you please. As soon as she is dead, the cottage and
the furniture will be yours, and you will sell them of course. Yes, I
will come. You will have plenty of money. Mynheer Philip, I would like
the first offer of the cottage, if it is to let."

Philip raised his arm in the air as if to crush Mynheer Poots, who
retreated to the corner.

"I did not mean until your mother was buried," said Poots, in a
coaxing tone.

"Go, wretch, go!" said Philip, covering his face with his hands, as he
sank down upon the blood-stained couch.

After a short interval, Philip Vanderdecken returned to the bedside
of his mother, whom he found much better;