hope to find our friend quite recovered at my next visit."

I turned to the patient, who was already dozing, and shook his hand
heartily.

"Good-bye, Mr. Graves!" I said. "I am sorry to have to disturb your
repose so much; but you must keep awake, you know. Won't do to go to
sleep."

"Ver' well," he replied drowsily. "Sorry t' give you all this trouble.
L' keep awake. But I think you're mistak'n--"

"He says it's very important that you shouldn't go to sleep, and that I
am to see that you don't. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I un'stan'. But why does this gennlem'n--?"

"Now it's of no use for you to ask a lot of questions," Mrs. Schallibaum
said playfully; "we'll talk to you to-morrow. Good night, doctor. I'll
light you down the stairs, but I won't come down with you, or the
patient will be falling asleep again."

Taking this definite dismissal, I retired, followed by a dreamily
surprised glance from the sick man. The housekeeper held the candle over
the balusters until I reached the bottom of the stairs, when I perceived
through the open door along the passage a glimmer of light from the
carriage lamps. The coachman was standing just outside, faintly
illuminated by the very dim lamplight, and as I stepped into the
carriage he remarked in his Scotch dialect that I "seemed to have been
makin' a nicht of it." He did not wait for any reply--none being in fact