The invalid only replied by groaning aloud and rolling his head on a pillow in a paroxysm of impatience.
"I am in hell, already!" cried he. "This cursed thirst is burning my heart to ashes! Will nobody—"
Before he could finish the sentence, I had poured out a glass of some acidulated, cooling drink that was on the table, and brought it to him. He drank it greedily, but muttered, as I took away the glass,—
"I suppose you're heaping coals of fire on my head—you think."
Not noticing this speech, I asked if there was anything else I could do for him.
"Yes; I'll give you another opportunity of shewing your christian magnanimity," sneered he:—"set my pillow straight,—and these confounded bed-clothes." I did so. "There—now, get me another glass of that slop." I complied. "This is delightful! isn't it?" said he with a malicious grin, as I held it to his
