“Well, of course, if you really think you can,” etc. etc.  So he was prevailed upon to promise that if he should be suffering in the morning he would send word in time to put off the party.  “Besides,” he added, “even if I could not go, that is no reason why you should not.”

“Stuff,” said Ghyrkins.

“Oh!” said Miss Westonhaugh, looking rather blank.

“That would never do,” said John.

“Preposterous! we could not think of going without you,” said Lord Steepleton Kildare loudly; he was beginning to like Isaacs in spite of himself.  And so we parted.

“I shall not dine to-night, Griggs,” said Isaacs, as we paused before his door.  “Come in for a moment:  you can help me.”  We entered the richly carpeted room, and he went to a curious old Japanese cabinet, and after opening various doors and divisions, showed a small iron safe.  This he opened by some means known to himself, for he used no key, and he took out a small vessel of jade and brought it to the light.  “Now,” he said, “be good enough to warm this little jar in your hands while I go into the next room and get my boots and spurs and things off.  But do not open it on any account—­not on any account, until I come back,” he added very emphatically.

“All right, go ahead,” said I, and began to warm the cold thing that felt like a piece of ice between my hands.  He returned in a few minutes robed in loose garments from Kashmir, with the low Eastern slippers he generally wore indoors.  He sat down among his cushions and leaned back, looking pale and tired; after ordering the lamps to be lit and the doors closed, he motioned me to sit down beside him.

“I have had a bad shaking,” he said, “and my head is a good deal bruised.  But I mean to go to-morrow in spite of everything.  In that little vial there is a powerful remedy unknown in your Western medicine.  Now I want you to apply it, and to follow with the utmost exactness my instructions.  If you fear you should forget what I tell you, write it down, for a mistake might be fatal to you, and would certainly be fatal to me.”

I took out an old letter and a pencil, not daring to trust my memory.

“Put the vial in your bosom while you write:  it must be near the temperature of the body.  Now listen to me.  In that silver box is wax.  Tie first this piece of silk over your mouth, and then stop your nostrils carefully with the wax.  Then open the vial quickly and pour a little of the contents into your hand.  You must be quick, for it is very volatile.  Rub that on the back of my head, keeping the vial closed.  When your hand is dry, hold the vial open to my nostrils for two minutes by your watch.  By that time, I shall be asleep.  Put the vial in this pocket of my caftan; open all the doors and windows, and tell my servant to leave them so, but not to admit any one.  Then you can leave me; I shall sleep very comfortably.  Come back and wake me a little before midnight.  You will wake me easily by lifting my head and pressing one of my hands.  Remember, if you should forget to wake me, and I should still be asleep at one o’clock, I should never open my eyes again, and should be dead before morning.  Do as I tell you, for friendship’s sake, and when I wake I shall bathe and sleep naturally the rest of the night.”