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gold watch in his hand, who felt his pulse, and said he was a
great deal better.

'You _are_ a great deal better, are you not, my dear?' said the
gentleman.

'Yes, thank you, sir,' replied Oliver.

'Yes, I know you are,' said the gentleman: 'You're hungry too,
an't you?'

'No, sir,' answered Oliver.

'Hem!' said the gentleman. 'No, I know you're not. He is not
hungry, Mrs. Bedwin,' said the gentleman: looking very wise.

The old lady made a respectful inclination of the head, which
seemed to say that she thought the doctor was a very clever man.
The doctor appeared much of the same opinion himself.

'You feel sleepy, don't you, my dear?' said the doctor.

'No, sir,' replied Oliver.

'No,' said the doctor, with a very shrewd and satisfied look.
'You're not sleepy. Nor thirsty. Are you?'

'Yes, sir, rather thirsty,' answered Oliver.

'Just as I expected, Mrs. Bedwin,' said the doctor. 'It's very
natural that he should be thirsty. You may give him a little
tea, ma'am, and some dry toast without any butter. Don't keep
him too warm, ma'am; but be careful that you don't let him be too
cold; will you have the goodness?'

The old lady dropped a curtsey. The doctor, after tasting the
cool stuff, and expressing a qualified approval of it, hurried
away: his boots creaking in a very important and wealthy manner
as he went downstairs.

Oliver dozed off again, soon after this; when he awoke, it was
nearly twelve o'clock. The old lady tenderly bade him good-night
shortly afterwards, and left him in charge of a fat old woman who
had just come: bringing with her, in a little bundle, a small
Prayer Book and a large nightcap. Putting the latter on her head
and the former on the table, the old woman, after telling Oliver
that she had come to sit up with him, drew her chair close to the
fire and went off into a series of short naps, chequered at
frequent intervals with sundry tumblings forward, and divers
moans and chokings. These, however, had no worse effect than
causing her to rub her nose very hard, and then fall asleep
again.

And thus the night crept slowly on. Oliver lay awake for some
time, counting the little circles of light which the reflection
of the rushlight-shade threw upon the ceiling; or tracing with
his languid eyes the intricate pattern of the paper on the wall.
The darkness and the deep stillness of the room were very solemn;
as they brought into the boy's mind the thought that death had
been hovering there, for many days and nights, and might yet fill
it with the gloom and dread of his awful presence, he turned his
face upon the pillow, and fervently prayed to Heaven.

Gradually, he fell into that deep tranquil sleep which ease from
recent suffering alone imparts; that calm and peaceful rest which
it is pain to wake from. Who, if this were death, would be
roused again to all the struggles and turmoils of life; to all
its cares for the present; its anxieties for the future; more
than all, its weary recollections of the past!

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