could save him in these seizures. Actuated by a common impulse of
humanity, Philip for the moment forgot their quarrel, and stepped with
all speed to fetch it. As it happened, there stood beneath this
cupboard a table, and on this table lay the document which his father
had been reading that afternoon before the arrival of Mr. Bellamy. It
was his will, and, as is usual in the case of such deeds, the date was
endorsed upon the back. All this Philip saw at a single glance, and he
also saw that the will was dated some years back, and therefore one
under which he would inherit, doubtless the same that his father had
some months before offered to show him.

It flashed through his mind that his father had got it out in order to
burn it; and this idea was followed by another that for a moment
stilled his heart.

"_If he should die now he cannot destroy it!_ If he does not take the
medicine he _will_ die."

Thought flies fast in moments of emergency. Philip, too, was a man of
determined mind where his own interests were concerned, and his blood
was heated and his reason blinded by fury and terror. He was not long
in settling on his course of action. Taking the bottle from the
cupboard, he poured out its contents into one of the wine-glasses that
stood upon the table, and coming up to his father with it addressed
him. He knew that these attacks, although they were of a nature to
cause intense pain, did not rob the sufferer of his senses. The old
man, though he lay before him gasping with agony, was quite in a
condition to understand him.

"Listen to me," he said, in a slow, distinct voice. "Just now you said
that you would disinherit me. This medicine will save your life, and
if I let it fall you will die, and there is no more in the house.
Swear before God that you will not carry out your threat, and I will
give it to you. Lift up your hand to show me that you swear."

Silence followed, only broken by the gasps of the dying man.

"If you will not swear, I will pour it out before your eyes."

Again there was silence; but this time the old man made an effort to
rise and ring the bell.

His son threw him roughly back.

"For the last time," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "will you swear?"

A struggle passed over his father's face, now nearly black with pain;
and presently from the distended lips, that did not seem to move,
there burst a single word--destined to echo for ever in his son's
ears--

"_Murderer!_"

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