dark. I know (from the testimony of the doctor who attended him in
the afternoon) that the vital machinery, so far as its action is
appreciable by our senses, had, in this case, unquestionably
stopped; and I am equally certain (seeing that I recovered him)
that the vital principle was not extinct. When I add, that he had
suffered from a long and complicated illness, and that his whole
nervous system was utterly deranged, I have told you all I really
know of the physical condition of my dead-alive patient at The Two
Robins Inn.

When he 'came to,' as the phrase goes, he was a startling object to
look at, with his colourless face, his sunken cheeks, his wild
black eyes, and his long black hair. The first question he asked
me about himself, when he could speak, made me suspect that I had
been called in to a man in my own profession. I mentioned to him
my surmise; and he told me that I was right.

He said he had come last from Paris, where he had been attached to
a hospital. That he had lately returned to England, on his way to
Edinburgh, to continue his studies; that he had been taken ill on
the journey; and that he had stopped to rest and recover himself at
Doncaster. He did not add a word about his name, or who he was:
and, of course, I did not question him on the subject. All I
inquired, when he ceased speaking, was what branch of the
profession he intended to follow.

'Any branch,' he said, bitterly, 'which will put bread into the
mouth of a poor man.'

At this, Arthur, who had been hitherto watching him in silent