So I informed Mrs. Allen. At the words, I could
see a shudder run through her frame, and an expression of something
like terror sweep over her face.
"His father died of apoplexy," said she in a hoarse whisper, looking
at me with a side-long, almost stealthy glance, not full and
open-eyed.
"This is something more than apoplexy," I remarked; still observing
her closely.
"The fall may have injured him," she suggested.
"The blow on his temple has done the fearful work," said I.
There was a perceptible start, and another look of fear-almost
terror.
"For heaven's sake, doctor," she said, rousing herself, and speaking
half imperatively, "do something! Don't stand speculating about the
cause; but do something if you have any skill."
Thus prompted, I set myself to work, in good earnest, with my
patient. The result was in no way flattering to my skill, for he
passed to his account in less than an hour, dying without a sign.
I shall never forget the wild screams which rang awfully through the
old mansion, when it was announced to Mrs. Allen that the Captain
was dead.
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