versed in the peculiar pathology of book men, and kindly as well as
skilful.

"My dear Mr. Maltravers, what is this? How are we?--not seriously ill,
I hope--no relapse--pulse low and irregular, I see, but no fever. You
are nervous."

"Doctor," said the student, "I did not send for you at this time of
night from the idle fear or fretful caprice of an invalid. But when I
saw you this morning, you dropped some hints which have haunted me ever
since. Much that it befits the conscience and the soul to attend to
without loss of time depends upon my full knowledge of my real state.
If I understand you rightly, I may have but a short time to live--is it
so?"

"Indeed!" said the doctor, turning away his face; "you have exaggerated
my meaning. I did not say that you were in what we technically call
danger."

"Am I then likely to be a /long/-lived man?"

The doctor coughed--"That is uncertain, my dear young friend," said he,
after a pause.

"Be plain with me. The plans of life must be based upon such
calculations as we can reasonably form of its probable duration. Do not
fancy that I am weak enough or coward enough to shrink from any abyss
which I have approached unconsciously; I desire--I adjure--nay, I
command you to be explicit."