done more neatly, more thoroughly. Towards the end the child moved his right hand and sighed twice heavily.
"When all was over, and when, under ordinary circumstances, you would have sat down to watch the patient, you seemed suddenly to collapse. You told me, I will confess something to my surprise at the moment, that you wished to go back to your room. I looked into your face, and saw that you were done—there is no other word for it. You staggered rather than walked to the door. I never saw anyone look so worn out."
"No wonder!" I ejaculated. "Eliot, I performed that operation in my sleep!"
"No, no," he answered, in agitation. "You can't get me to believe that: you were wide awake. I never saw anyone with more complete control of his faculties."
"I was fast asleep," I answered; "I dreamt it all. I remember each thing you have told me. I dreamt it all. My God! I evidently did more than dream. Can this be true? But, no, you must be mocking me."
"Not I; here are your instruments not yet cleaned. Look at them, and then come and see the child. The child is much better."
"For God's sake, leave me to myself for a little," I said. "If this is not all a dream, it is the most marvellous case of somnambulism that has ever yet been recorded. Leave me alone for a little, Eliot. I'll get dressed somehow and join you in the sick room; that is, if I don't go mad in the meantime."
"Not you," said Eliot. "If you were really asleep, you may congratulate yourself on having done a more successful operation than I ever saw performed by waking man. Keep cool, Halifax. I can only say that, awake or asleep, Providence must have guided your movements last night."
Eliot left the room, and I sat for a moment with my head pressed against my hands. I did not believe the story—and yet a glance at the instruments on the table could not fail to convince me.
Then I dressed with frantic speed, plunged my head into cold water two or three times, and, tolerably collected at last, but feeling as if I were half-a-dozen years older, I went into the sick room. There lay the little fellow with his pretty eyes open—a faint dawning smile round his lips, and a slight colour coming back to his cheeks.
There sat the mother, bending over him as if she were worshipping him; and there stood Hal, with his face all disfigured as if he had just had a great crying bout. When I appeared, he made two strides towards me, put a big hand on each shoulder and pushed me towards the dressing-room.
"Good God! Halifax," he said. "What craze came over you, old chap?"
"It's all right now," I said. "But—just for my own satisfaction, for the boy is quite out of danger—I should like you to send for Fieldman. I want to tell him the whole story, and to give him my reasons for differing from Parsons."
"I'll send for all the surgeons in London, if you wish it."
"No, Hal," I said, trying to speak steadily and to recover myself, for I was really in a frightful state of maze. "But the fact is, I have done a most extraordinary thing, and I want Fieldman to see my work and to hear my story. I performed the operation in my sleep, Hal, old fellow."
"So they tell me. What care I whether you did it awake or asleep? You saved the boy—I don't care how you did it, Halifax. You're the best fellow on earth—bar none!"
"Well, I should like to see Fieldman," I answered, sinking into a chair.
We telegraphed for the great surgeon, who arrived that evening. To him I confided the whole extraordinary story. He heard me to the end, refused to commit himself with regard to Parsons, but looked anxiously at me, felt my pulse, and looked into my eyes.
"You must take a month's holiday, or your nerves will be going wrong," he said. "Fact, I assure you. You must go away at once."
"Before I stir a step," I answered, "you must give me your opinion of the boy."
"All right, stay where you are; I'll come back to you."
He was absent a little over half an hour.
"The operation is absolutely successful," he said. "The boy will recover perfectly. He will be as well as ever he was. All he needs now is quiet and rest. By Jove, you did an extraordinary thing, Halifax. A most unaccountable and successful thing. Only listen to me. In the name of science, don't repeat it!"
