."

The high-minded old soldier said no more, and put no questions, but
confided in his son's affection, and awaited the result of it. From that
hour Walter Clifford nursed his father day and night. Dr. Garner arrived
next day. He examined the patient, and put a great many questions as to
the history and progress of the disorder up to that date, and inquired
in particular what was the length of time the fits generally endured.
Here he found them all rather hazy. "Ah," said he, "patients are seldom
able to assist their medical adviser with precise information on this
point, yet it's very important. Well, can you tell me how long this
attack has lasted?"

They told him that within a day or two.

"Then now," said he, "the most important question of all: What day did
the pain leave his extremities?"

The patient and John Baker had to compare notes to answer this question,
and they made it out to be about twenty days.

"Then he ought to be as dead as a herring," whispered the doctor.

After this he began to walk the room and meditate, with his hands
behind him.

"Open those top windows," said he. "Now draw the screen, and give his
lungs a chance; no draughts must blow upon him, you know." Then he drew
Walter aside. "Do you want to know the truth? Well, then, his life hangs
on a thread. The gout is creeping upward, and will inevitably kill him
if we can't get it down. Nothing but heroic remedies will do that, and
it's three to five against them. What do you say?"

"I dare not--I dare not. Pray put the question to _him_."

"I will," said the doctor; and accordingly he did put it to him with a
good deal of feeling and gentleness, and the answer rather surprised him.

Weak as he was, Colonel Clifford's dull eye flashed, and he half raised
himself on his elbow. "What a question to put to a soldier!" said he.
"Why, let us fight, to be sure. I thought it was twenty to one--five to
three? I have often won the rubber with five to three against me."

"Ah!" said Dr. Garner, "these are the patients that give the doctor a
chance." Then he turned to Baker. "Have you any good champagne in the
house--not sweet, and not too dry, and full of fire?"

"Irroy's Carte d'Or," suggested the patient, entering into the business
with a certain feeble alacrity that showed his gout had not always been
unconnected with imprudence in diet.

Baker was sent for the champagne. It was brought and opened, and the
patient drank some of it fizzing