This eBook was produced by Andrew Heath
and David Widger
On reaching my own home, I found my servant sitting up for me with theinformation that my attendance was immediately required. The little boywhom Margrave's carelessness had so injured, and for whose injury he hadshown so little feeling, had been weakened by the confinement which thenature of the injury required, and for the last few days had beengenerally ailing. The father had come to my house a few minutes before Ireached it, in great distress of mind, saying that his child had beenseized with fever, and had become delirious. Hearing that I was at themayor's house, he had hurried thither in search of me.
I felt as if it were almost a relief to the troubled and haunting thoughtswhich tormented me, to be summoned to the exercise of a familiarknowledge. I hastened to the bedside of the little sufferer, and soonforgot all else in the anxious struggle for a human life. The strugglepromised to be successful; the worst symptoms began to yield to remediesprompt and energetic, if simple. I remained at the house, rather tocomfort and support the parents, than because my continued attendance wasabsolutely needed, till the night was well-nigh gone; and all cause ofimmediate danger having subsided, I then found myself once more in thestreets. An atmosphere palely clear in the gray of dawn had succeeded tothe thunder-clouds of the stormy night; the streetlamps, here and there,burned wan and still. I was walking slowly and wearily, so tired out thatI was scarcely conscious of my own thoughts, when, in a narrow lane, myfeet stopped almost mechanically before a human form stretched at fulllength in the centre of the road right in my path. The form was dark inthe shadow thrown from the neighbouring houses. "Some poor drunkard,"thought I, and the humanity inseparable from my calling not allowing me toleave a fellow-creature thus exposed to the risk of being run over by thefirst drowsy wagoner who might pass along the thoroughfare, I stooped torouse and to lift the form. What was my horror when my eyes met the rigidstare of a dead man's. I started, looked again; it was the face of SirPhilip Derval! He was lying on his back, the countenance upturned, a darkstream oozing from the breast,—murdered by two ghastly wounds, murderednot long since, the blood was still warm. Stunned and terror-stricken, Istood bending over the body. Suddenly I was touched on the shoulder.
"Hollo! what is this?" said a gruff voice.
"Murder!" I answered in hollow accents, which sounded strangely to my ownear.
"Murder! so it seems." And the policeman who had thus accosted me liftedthe body.
"A gentleman by his dress. How did this happen? How did you come here?"and the policeman glanced suspiciously at me.
At this moment, however, there came up another policeman, in whom Irecognized the young man whose sister I had attended and cured.
"Dr. Fenwick," said the last, lifting his hat respectfully, and at thesound of my name his fellow-policeman changed his manner and muttered anapology.
I now collected myself sufficiently to state the name and rank of themurdered man. The policemen bore the body to their station, to which Iaccompanied them. I then returned to my own house, and had scarcely sunkon my bed when sleep came over me. But what a sleep! Never till then hadI known how awfully distinct dreams can be. The phantasmagoria of thenaturalist's collection revived. Life again awoke in the serpent and thetiger, the scorpion moved, and the vulture flapped its wings. And therewas Margr