“'The elemential conflict that with tremendious violence raged, ravaged, and ruined the adamantine foundations of our western coast, on Tuesday, the 23rd of December--'” “Come along, come along,” said Craggs; “we've something else to think of.” And with this admonition, very curtly bestowed, he stepped out briskly on the path towards Glencore. CHAPTER II. GLENCORE CASTLE When the Corporal, followed by Billy, entered the gloomy hall of the Castle, they found two or three country people conversing in a low but eager voice together, who speedily turned towards them, to learn if the doctor had come. “Here 's all I could get in the way of a doctor,” said Craggs, pushing Billy towards them as he spoke. “Faix, and ye might have got worse,” muttered a very old man; “Billy Traynor has the lucky hand.'” “How is my lord, now, Nelly?” asked the Corporal of a woman who, with bare feet, and dressed in the humblest fashion of the peasantry, appeared. “He's getting weaker and weaker, sir; I believe he's sinking. I'm glad it's Billy is come; I'd rather see him than all the doctors in the country.” “Follow me,” said Craggs, giving a signal to step lightly; and he led the way up a narrow stone stair, with a wall on either hand. Traversing a long, low corridor, they reached a door, at which having waited for a second or two to listen, Craggs turned the handle and entered. The room was very large and lofty, and, seen in the dim light of a small lamp upon the hearthstone, seemed even more spacious than it was. The oaken floor was uncarpeted, and a very few articles of furniture occupied the walls. In one corner stood a large bed, the heavy curtains of which had been gathered up on the roof, the better to admit air to the sick man. As Billy drew nigh with cautious steps, he perceived that, although worn and wasted by long illness, the patient was a man still in the very prime of life. His dark hair and beard, which he wore long, were untinged with gray, and his forehead showed no touch of age. His dark eyes were wide open, and his lips slightly parted, his whole features exhibiting an expression of energetic action, even to wildness. Still he was sleeping; and, as Craggs whispered, he seldom slept otherwise, even when in health. With all the quietness of a trained practitioner, Billy took down the watch that was pinned to the curtain and proceeded to count the pulse. “A hundred and thirty-eight,” muttered he, as he finished; and then, gently displacing the bedclothes, laid his hand upon the heart. With a long-drawn sigh, like that of utter weariness, the sick man moved his head round and fixed his eyes upon him. “The doctor!” said he, in a deep-toned but feeble voice. “Leave me, Craggs--leave me alone with him.” And the Corporal slowly retired, turning as he went to look back towards the bed, and evidently going with reluctance. “Is it fever?” asked the sick man, in a faint but unfaltering accent.