But I resisted my first impressions and took the sick man's hand. It was
dry and wiry, yet small and strong; I found the pulse quick, feverish,
and denoting great irritability.
What was I to do?
I stood considering; on the one side stood the young lady, anxiously
trying to read a little hope in my face; on the other Sperver, equally
anxious and watching my every movement. A painful constraint lay,
therefore, upon me, yet I saw that there was nothing definite that
could be attempted yet.
I dropped the arm and listened to the breathing. From time to time a
convulsive sob heaved the sick man's heart, after which followed a
succession of quick, short respirations. A kind of nightmare was
evidently weighing him down--epilepsy, perhaps, or tetanus. But what
could be the cause or origin?
I turned round full of painful thoughts.
"Is there any hope, sir?" asked the young countess.
"Yesterday's crisis is drawing to its close," I answered; "we must see if
we can prevent its recurrence."
"Is there any possibility of it, sir?"
I was about to answer in general medical terms, not daring to venture any
positive assertions, when the distant sound of the bell at the gate fell
upon our ears.
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