' ''
As the physician repeated these lines, a flash of
intelligence seemed to revive in the invalid's eye---
sunk again---again struggled, and he spoke more
intelligibly than before, and in the tone of one
eager to say something which he felt would escape
him unless said instantly. ``A question of death-bed,
a question of death-bed, doctor---a reduction
_ex capite lecti_---Withering against Wilibus---about
the _morbus sonticus_. I pleaded the cause for the
pursuer---I, and---and---Why, I shall forget my
own name---I,and---he that was the wittiest and
the best-humoured man living---''
The description enabled the doctor to fill up the
blank, and the patient joyfully repeated the name
suggested. ``Ay, ay,'' he said, ``just he---Harry
---poor Harry---'' The light in his eye died
away, and he sunk back in his easy-chair.
``You have now seen more of our poor friend,
Mr Croftangry,'' said the physician, ``than I dared
venture to promise you; and now I must take my
professional authority on me, and ask you to retire.
Miss Sommerville will, I am sure, let you know if
a moment should by any chance occur when her
uncle can see you.''
What could I do? I gave my card to the young
lady, and, taking my offering from my bosom---
``if my poor friend,'' I said, with accents as broken
almost as his own, ``should ask where this came
from, name me; and say from the most obliged and
most grateful man alive.
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