“Quite right,” said Langholm—­“and then?”

“It seemed to pull him together a bit, and he began to talk.  He wanted to know about all the grand folks round about, where they lived and how long they’d lived there.  At last he made me tell him the way to Normanthorpe House, after asking any amount of questions about Mr. and Mrs. Steel; it was hard work not to tell him what had just come out, but I remembered what you said before you went away, sir, and I left that to others.”

“Good!” said Langholm.  “But did he go to Normanthorpe?”

“He started, though I begged him to sit still while we tried to get him a trap from the village; and his self-will nearly cost him his life, if it doesn’t yet.  He was hardly out of sight when we see him come staggering back with his handkerchief up to his mouth, and the blood dripping through his fingers into the road.”

“A hemorrhage!”

“Yes, sir, yon was the very word the doctor used, and he says if he has another it’ll be all up.  So you may think what a time I’ve had!  If he’s a friend of yours, sir, I’m sure I don’t mind.  In any case, poor gentleman—­”

“He is a friend of mine,” interrupted Langholm, “and we must do all we can for him.  I will help you, Mrs. Brunton.  You shall have your sleep to-night.  Did you put him into my room?”

“No, sir, your bed wasn’t ready, so we popped him straight into our own; and now he has everything nice and clean and comfortable as I could make it.  If only we can pull him through, poor young gentleman, between us!”

“God bless you for a good woman,” said Langholm, from his heart; “it will be His will and not your fault if we fail.  Yes, I should like to see the poor fellow, if I may.”

“He is expecting you, sir.  He told Dr. Sedley he must see you the moment you arrived, and the doctor said he might.  No, he won’t know you’re here yet, and he can’t have heard a word, for our room is at t’front o’ t’house.”

“Then I’ll go up alone, Mrs. Brunton, if you won’t mind.”

Severino was lying in a high, square bed, his black locks tossed upon a spotless pillow no whiter than his face; a transparent hand came from under the bedclothes to meet Langholm’s outstretched one, but it fell back upon the sick man’s breast instead.

“Do you forgive me?” he whispered, in a voice both hoarse and hollow.

“What for?” smiled Langholm.  “You had a right to come where you liked; it is a free country, Severino.”

“But I went to your hotel—­behind your back!”

“That was quite fair, my good fellow.  Come, I mean to shake hands, whether you like it or not.”

And the sound man took the sick one’s hand with womanly tenderness; and so sat on the bed, looking far into the great dark sinks of fever that were human eyes; but the fever was of the brain, for the poor fellow’s hand was cool.

“You do not ask me why I did it,” came from the tremulous lips at last.