The doctor left the house, followed by the boy, and in a few moments both were lost in the darkness, and far out of the ken of Blind Peter.
Five minutes after the departure of the medical man Jabez went to the door, and after looking out at the squalid houses, which were all dark, gave a long low whistle.
A figure crept out of the darkness, and came up to where he stood. It was the old woman, his grandmother.
"All's right, deary," she whispered. "Bill Withers has got everything ready. He's a waiting down by the wall yonder. There's not a mortal about; and I'll keep watch. You'll want Bill's help. When you're ready for him, you're to whistle softly three times running. He'll know what it means—and I'm going to watch while he helps you. Haven't I managed beautiful, deary? and shan't I deserve the golden sovereigns you've promised me? They was guineas always when I was young, deary. Nothing's as good now as it used to be."
"Don't let us have any chattering," said Jabez, as he laid a rough hand upon her arm; "unless you want to wake everybody in the place."
"But, I say, deary, is it all over? Nothing unfair, you know. Remember your promise."
"All over? Yes; half an hour ago. If you hinder me here with your talk, the girl will be back before we're ready for her."
"Let me come in and close his eyes, deary," supplicated the old woman. "His mother was my own child. Let me close his eyes."
"Keep where you are, or I'll strangle you!" growled her dutiful grandson, as he shut the door upon his venerable relation, and left her mumbling upon the threshold.
Jabez crept cautiously towards the bed on which his brother lay. Jim at this moment awoke from his restless slumber; and, opening his eyes to their widest extent, looked full at the man by his side. He made no effort to speak, pointed to his lips, and, stretching out his hand towards the bottles on the table, made signs to his brother. These signs were a supplication for the cooling draught which always allayed the burning heat of the fever.
Jabez never stirred. "He has awoke," he murmured. "Tide is the crisis of his life, and of my fate."
The clocks of Slopperton chimed the quarter before eleven.
"It's a black gulf, lass," gasped the dying man; "and I'm fast sinking into it."
There was no friendly hand, Jim, to draw you back from that terrible gulf. The medicine stood untouched upon the table; and, perhaps as guilty as the first murderer, your twin brother stood by your bed-side.
