ood old Morley!--
who was holding a very hard wooden cup to his lips for him to drink the
medicine. No, it was not nasty; it was beautifully cool and good. He
felt that the Doctor had put in so much water that he could not taste
the physic; and he drank on and on, every drop seeming to make it easier
at last to think. And then the cup was being taken from his lips, and
he tried to raise his hand to catch it and hold it so that he might
drink more; but his arm fell as if nerveless, and he uttered a deep
groan.

"Oh, come!" rose to his ears now, as if from a long way off. "That's
something! Ain't going to die this time."

"Not going to die this time," some one whispered, as if it were breathed
with a hot breath upon his lips; and then he lay thinking in a very
feeble way, and feeling the while so tired, as a great longing came over
him to go to sleep. It seemed like hours before that longing was
fulfilled; and then he woke up not knowing why or wherefore, or grasping
anything but that it was dark, black dark; and then he felt, with a
strange sense of agony, that all his trouble was returning, for the
trumpeting roar thundered through his brain, and he lay perfectly still
as the deep sound ceased, ending with a peculiar kind of snort and a
squeal, feeling that there was no pain, and beginning to wonder why.

Time passed again--how long a time it was beyond him to grasp--but there
was that peculiar trumpeting roar once more, and somehow it did not
trouble him so much. The fancy that he was in the Lion House had faded
away, and he became conscious of the Doctor passing his arm under his
neck and raising him, while the wooden cup was being held to his lips--
cool, sweet, delicious--it was one great joy to feel the soft draught
running over his parched tongue and down his throat.

Then he started, and he felt some of the contents of the cup trickle
down his chin, for there was a shrill trumpeting noise again as the
desire to exert himself came, and he exclaimed:

"What's that?"

It was only in a whisper, but the Doctor--no, it was not the Doctor; it
was some one whose voice he knew--said excitedly:

"Helephants." And then, "I say, Mister Archie, sir, you're a-coming
round!"

That was too much for him. He wanted to ask what it meant--why it was
Peter Pegg who had been holding up his head, and not the Doctor--but he
could not form the words for the deep, heavy sleepiness which came over
him; and then all was d