“I had had time to note these little particulars, and to mark the heavy breathing and feverish startings of the sick man, before he was aware of my presence. In the restless attempts to procure some easy resting-place for his head, he tossed his hand out of the bed, and it fell on mine. He started up, and stared eagerly in my face.

“ ‘ Mr. Hutley, John,’ said his wife; ‘ Mr. Hutley, that you sent for tonight, you know.’

“ ‘Ah!’ said the invalid, passing his hand across his forehead; ‘Hutley⁠—Hutley⁠—let me see.’ He seemed endeavouring to collect his thoughts for a few seconds, and then grasping me tightly by the wrist said, ‘Don’t leave me⁠—don’t leave me, old fellow. She’ll murder me; I know she will.’

“ ‘Has he been long so?’ said I, addressing his weeping wife.