"Of course, sir, of course I will," I answered. "I love her very dearly, and will do all I can to make her happy."
"And she is never to know—how I died?"
"Never, I promise you most faithfully."
"Now, don't forget the morphia whenever I send for you. Give me an extra dose of the other now, and then send Gwen to me. Perhaps I shall see you again to-night."
Ominous words. I went back to the surgery, and thought it over, and as the hours passed the waiting actually made me feel nervous. I had three strong whiskies and sodas—rare for me—but even then by midnight I was ready to start at the slightest noise, and felt generally all to bits. "This won't do," I thought. "Buck up, old man," and just then I heard a swish of garments, and in rushed Gwen in a dressing-gown, bare-footed and dishevelled.
"Oh, Archie, Archie, come quick. I think father's dying, please," and her voice broke into a terrified sob. I snatched up my hypodermic case and ran upstairs, Gwen following.
Eckington looked ghastly. His breathing was laboured, and he appeared to be very ill—much worse than he really was, but he was evidently suffering great pain. "Now—now," he whispered, as I sent Gwen away to fetch
