"I don't know what you mean, Doctor Lawrence, by `under the circumstances.' If you think I am to blame for my friend, George Harrington's illness, you are sadly mistaken. It is an attack of Western or swamp fever, I presume." "Undoubtedly," said the doctor drily. "Bring the whiskey," shouted the prisoner, in a hoarse yell. "May I ask you to fetch this medicine, Mr Saul?" said the doctor again. "Certainly," replied Saul; and as he took the paper, he gave Gertrude an imploring look, that changed to one of sympathy as he passed out. The look was lost upon Gertrude, whose eyes were fixed upon the struggling, blaspheming man bound on the couch, and who could only be kept in his place by Mr Hampton sitting upon him. She had been entreated, again and again, to leave the room, but had refused as if determined to see all. "Nasty fit," said the doctor coolly, as he gave the lawyer a peculiar look. "Yes. I never saw a worse." "Here," cried the patient, with a hoarse roar. "Get some whisk'. Throat's like--like--what you call it. Hullo, old mother 'Ampton, you there! Where's old Saul?" He burst out into an idiotic fit of laughter, and looked from one to the other. "Where's Gertie?" he cried at last; "where's little lassie? Fesh her here. Got t'headache. She's good f'readache. Curse you, what are you doing. Let's get up." There was another fierce struggle, but the bandages held firm, and he lay panting for a time. "Man must joy self sometimes. Ah, there you are, little one. It's all right--it's all right." His eyes closed, and he lay passive for quite a quarter of an hour, the doctor watching every change, and at last joining his entreaties to those of Mrs Hampton. "You had better go, Gertrude, my dear. You can do no good. I shall stay here by him--perhaps all night. He'll be better in the morning." "Never better to me," thought Gertrude, as she looked wistfully in the doctor's eyes. But she shook her head and intimated that she should stay. "But it is not a fit scene for you, my child," whispered Mrs Hampton tenderly. "I cannot help it, I may be of use. Doctor Lawrence," she said aloud, piteously, as with a faint hope that she might be deceived, and that she was unjust in attributing the trouble to drink, "are such fits likely to return?" "Eh? Hum! Well, really, my dear, it all depends upon the patient himself. Ah! here's Mr Saul." "Eh? Saul?" yelled the patient. "Where's old Saul? More whiskey. Ah, would you!" He burst out into such a torrent of tall swearing as is said to be peculiar to the mule-drivers of the Far West, and Gertrude shuddered as the hot words came pouring forth. "That's right, Mr Saul. Now, Mrs Denton, a wine-glass, and a little cold water, please." These were obtained, and as the chink of bottle against glass was heard, the patient shouted aloud, and strained to sit up and reach the glass held out to him, and whose contents he swallowed instantly.