"Now the sparring-match between you and the doctor is over," said Allan, "I have
got two words to say on my side. Will you do something for my sake which you
won't do for your own?"
Midwinter's face brightened instantly. "I will do anything you ask me," he said.
"Very well. Will you let the subject of the dream drop out of our talk altogether
from this time forth?"
"Yes, if you wish it."
"Will you go a step further? Will you leave off thinking about the dream?"
"It's hard to leave off thinking about it, Allan. But I will try."
"That's a good fellow! Now give me that trumpery bit of paper, and let's tear it up,
and have done with it."
He tried to snatch the manuscript out of his friend's hand; but Midwinter was too
quick for him, and kept it beyond his reach.
"Come! come!" pleaded Allan. "I've set my heart on lighting my cigar with it."
Midwinter hesitated painfully. It was hard to resist Allan; but he did resist him.
"I'll wait a little," he said, "before you light your cigar with it."
"How long? Till to-morrow?"
"Till we leave the Isle of Man?"
"Hang it--give me a plain answer to a plain question! How long will you wait?"
Midwinter carefully restored the paper to its place in his pocketbook.
"I'll wait," he said, "till we get to Thorpe Ambrose."
THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.