"He may not live through the night." He put up his hand; Billy was coughing, and a little pink foam gathered about his lips, which the doctor wiped away. "Exposure and want have reduced him to this state. He has been suffering a long time, and his strength is completely wasted. Had he been attended to months ago, there would have been a chance for him. Listen!" Billy was coughing again, a faint, wasting cough, painful to hear. "I can do very little. I will send you a bottle of medicine, which may give him temporary relief; and I will come again about midnight, if you wish." "I shall feel obliged to you. We shall be here all night. Should he have brandy after he has taken the gruel?" "A few drops now and then will do him no harm. He needs all the strength you can put into him. Endeavor to get from him some information about his relatives, and go for them." "Would it be best to take him to a hospital?" "He should not be removed; he will not trouble you long." "It is more a grief than a trouble." "I understand. See, he is coming to. How do you feel now, my little man?" "_I_ don' know," murmured Billy. "There's somethink 'ere." He moved his hand feebly to his chest. "Is that you, Mr. Gran? Where am I?" "With good friends, Billy." "You've allus been that to me, sir." "Now try and eat a little of this," said Grantham, raising the lad gently in his arms. Billy, with a grateful smile, managed to get two or three spoonfuls down, and then sank back on the bed. "Do not force him," said the doctor. "Where do you live, Billy?" "I don't know--anywhere." "But try and remember." "I can't remember nothink--only Mr. Gran. It ain't likely I'll forgit 'im. Thank yer kindly, sir, for wot you've done for me; there ain't many like yer." He closed his eyes, and appeared to sleep. "I will see him again at midnight," said the doctor, and stepped softly from the room. Rathbeal cleared the table, and arranged some manuscripts. "We may as well work while we watch, Robert. These must be copied by the morning." He spoke in a whisper, and, sitting down, commenced to write. Grantham lingered awhile by the bedside, and as Billy did not stir, presently joined his friend, and proceeded with his copying. He did not observe that Billy, when he left his side, slyly opened his eyes, and gazed upon him with a look of grateful, pathetic love. Every time Grantham turned to him he closed his eyes, in order that it should be supposed he was sleeping. The writing proceeded almost in silence, the friends only exchanging brief, necessary words relating to their work. Now and then Grantham rose and went to the bedside, and when the bottle of medicine arrived he laid his hand gently on Billy's shoulder. "Yes, Mr. Gran," said the lad, "I'm awake." "Take this, Billy; it will do you good." "Nothink'll do me good, sir; but I'll take it. I _did_ want to see you before I went where I'm going to."