The Parsee doctor deposited a cup and bottle upon the bench, and after giving some whispered instructions to the man who had been addressed as “Count,” he followed the surgeon out of the dwelling. The tall man resumed his post of observation.

The oppressive quiet of the chamber was broken after a long interval by a sigh followed by the sound of a slight cough. Count Rondell leaned forward eagerly. The invalid had moved, an arm had been thrown up and the hand was feeling for the throat. Gradually the eyes opened and the sick man gazed stupidly upward at the dingy mud-plastered bamboo lace work of the ceiling, and then slowly and almost devoid of intelligence swept the foreground and rested curiously upon the watcher. Count Rondell half rose as he intently observed the change, and wondered vaguely whether he should speak or await the actions of the sufferer.