"You must," I said and strode into the open. When I had prepared breakfast, she did not want to eat. But I had only to frown and she succumbed. Afterwards I made her lie down, and she slept through Sir Robert's groaning. It was a hideous day. The patient grew steadily worse, and so great was his strength, despite his diminutive size, that our struggles wore me out at last and I was obliged to strap him down. By nightfall he was a maniac, and his yells could be heard, I make no doubt, a mile around. And the worst of it was that my stock of bromide was gone. I had to dose him with morphia. But I had not to speak to Miss Ottley again. She woke me out of a delicious sleep at a quarter to the hour. She was quite composed, but as pale as a sheet. "My father is going to die, I think," she whispered. I went in and looked at him. He was straining like a tiger at his bonds. "Not to-night, at any rate," I observed. "He has the strength of six. You go straight to bed!" She went off as meek as any lamb, and I began to talk to Sir Robert. Our conversation was somewhat entertaining. He was Ixion chained to the wheel. I was Sisyphus with a day off duty. We commiserated one another on our penalties, and bitterly assailed King Pluto's unsympathetic government. Finally we conspired to dethrone him and give the crown of Hades to Proserpine, whose putatively tender heart might be reckoned on occasionally to mitigate the anguish of our punishment. He fell into a fitful doze at last with his hand in mine, but he soon awoke, and with a yell announced the return of the imaginary plague of cats. On the whole, the night was worse than the day. And morning was no blessing. Sir Robert had shed five and forty years. He was once again at college, and if his unwilling confessions are to be relied upon, and his language, he must have been a precious handful for his masters. But now he steadily lost strength, and the flame of fever ate him up before our eyes. As the shadows lengthened into afternoon I began to look for the crisis. Chapter III Two Lies Sleep was not to be dreamed of that night for either of us well people. I had thought of a plan. Leaving Miss Ottley to watch the unconscious but ceaselessly babbling patient, I scoured out the sarcophagus, and then built an enormous fire before the pylon. Over this I hung the Arab's cauldron. By nightfall I had the sarcophagus nigh abrim with hot water. It formed a huge but most admirable bath. It was a heroic experiment to make; but the dark angel was in the cavern and I had little chance left. Kill or cure. It seemed a toss of the coin either way, for Sir Robert was dying fast. After the bath he slipped into a state of blank insensibility. Miss Ottley thought him asleep, and she took heart to hope. I did not deceive her. For four hours I waited, my finger continually on his pulse. It grew continually weaker. I administered nitro-glycerine every half hour, but at length even that spur failed.