Before young Holliday could answer, he turned to me, and said in a
whisper, 'Now for the prescription.' From that time, though he
spoke to Arthur again, he never looked at him more.

When I had written the prescription, he examined it, approved of
it, and then astonished us both by abruptly wishing us good night.
I offered to sit up with him, and he shook his head. Arthur
offered to sit up with him, and he said, shortly, with his face
turned away, 'No.' I insisted on having somebody left to watch
him. He gave way when he found I was determined, and said he would
accept the services of the waiter at the Inn.

'Thank you, both,' he said, as we rose to go. 'I have one last
favour to ask--not of you, doctor, for I leave you to exercise your
professional discretion--but of Mr. Holliday.' His eyes, while he
spoke, still rested steadily on me, and never once turned towards
Arthur. 'I beg that Mr. Holliday will not mention to any one--
least of all to his father--the events that have occurred, and the
words that have passed, in this room. I entreat him to bury me in
his memory, as, but for him, I might have been buried in my grave.
I cannot give my reasons for making this strange request. I can
only implore him to grant it.'

His voice faltered for the first time, and he hid his face on the
pillow. Arthur, completely bewildered, gave the required pledge.
I took young Holliday away with me, immediately afterwards, to the
house of my friend; determining to go back to the Inn, and to see
the medical student again before he had left in the morning.

I returned to the Inn at eight o'clock, purposely abstaining from