brother; and as I did so there came a knock at my door.

I listened before I went to open it, for it was nearly twelve o'clock at
night, and I was in no mood to admit any stranger. I had but one friend
in the College, or, indeed, in the world--perhaps it was he.

Just then the person outside the door coughed, and I hastened to open
it, for I knew the cough.

A tall man of about thirty, with the remains of great personal beauty,
came hurrying in, staggering beneath the weight of a massive iron box
which he carried by a handle with his right hand. He placed the box upon
the table, and then fell into an awful fit of coughing. He coughed and
coughed till his face became quite purple, and at last he sank into
a chair and began to spit up blood. I poured out some whisky into a
tumbler, and gave it to him. He drank it, and seemed better; though his
better was very bad indeed.

"Why did you keep me standing there in the cold?" he asked pettishly.
"You know the draughts are death to me."

"I did not know who it was," I answered. "You are a late visitor."

"Yes; and I verily believe it is my last visit," he answered, with a
ghastly attempt at a smile. "I am done for, Holly. I am done for. I do
not believe that I shall see to-morrow."

"Nonsense!" I said. "Let me go for a doctor."

He waved me back imperiously with his hand. "It is sober sense; but I