"Better not inquire, my lord," said the doctor. "What do you know about
the mysteries of medicine?"
"Why must I not inquire?"
Vimpany turned, closing the cupboard behind him. In his hand was a
glass full of the stuff he was about to administer.
"If you look in the glass," he said, "you will understand why."
Lord Harry obeyed. He saw a face ghastly in pallor: he shrank back and
fell into a chair, saying no more.
"Now, my good friend," said the doctor, "drink this and you'll be
better--ever so much better, ever so much better. Why--that is
brave----" he looked at him strangely, "How do you like the medicine?"
Oxbye shook his head as a man who has taken something nauseous. "I
don't like it at all," he said. "It doesn't taste like the other
physic."
"No I have been changing it--improving it."
The Dane shook his head again. "There's a pain in my throat," he said;
"it stings--it burns!"
"Patience--patience. It will pass away directly, and you will lie down
again and fall asleep comfortably."
Oxbye sank back upon the sofa. His eyes closed. Then he opened them
again, looking about him strangely, as one who is suffering some new
experience. Again he shook his head, again he closed his eyes, and he
opened them no more.
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