"Not this time," he said slowly, and with emphasis; "it will be his
death."

"Pooh, sir!" said the doctor, disdainfully.

"Do so, then; bleed him, and take the responsibility. I have studied
medicine,--I know these symptoms. In this case the apoplexy may spare,--
the lancet kills."

The physician drew back dismayed and doubtful.

"What would you do, then?"

"Wait three minutes longer the effect of the cataplasms I have applied.
If they fail--"

"Ay, then?"

"A chill bath and vigorous friction."

"Sir, I will never permit it."

"Then murder your patient your own way."

All this while Sir Miles lay senseless, his eyes wide open, his teeth
locked. The doctor drew near, looked at the lancet, and said
irresolutely,--

"Your practice is new to me; but if you have studied medicine, that's
another matter. Will you guarantee the success of your plan?"