As he recognized us his wan face lighted up with an angelic smile, and he endeavored to raise himself at our coming, but he was too weak, and his head sank nerveless back upon the pillow.

Silently and hushed, as in the chamber of death, we stepped to his bedside.  He held out his thin hand to his uncle, who clasped it between his own, and, kneeling by his couch, bowed his head and sobbed aloud.  His first moments of bitter grief subsiding, he said to me, “Send for some wine.”  Then, stroking the child’s fair forehead, he groaned, “O Herbert, Herbert, have I found you at last, sick and alone!”

Herbert attempted to reply, but his voice was weak and faint; we could not distinguish his words.  A servant brought the wine, and I moistened his colorless lips with it.  How I felt, it is useless to describe.  Words would fail to express my terror.

The rich, warm juice of the grape and the application of stimulants seemed to restore him to life.  His first effort on recovering was to call me by name.  I answered by bending over him and bathing his pale forehead.  At this he smiled, pleased and happy.

“Now, Herbert, my poor boy,” said Mr. Bristed, “if it will not fatigue you too much to talk, tell us how you came here.  Who brought you?  Why did you leave Bristed Hall?”

“Uncle Richard brought me,” said he, heaving a melancholy sigh.  “He came after you had gone, uncle, and told me that Agnes Reef was sick and going to die, and wanted to see me and you, and that if you were home you would let me go, because you loved her; and I thought so too.  He gave me this ring which Agnes sent so I would know it was her.”  And, saying this, he held up a thin, transparent hand, and there, indeed, upon it gleamed one of my rings, so loose that the wasted fingers could scarce retain it.

“My ring!  So Richard gave you that,” said I, with scorn I could not conceal, even in the sick chamber.

“Yes,” he murmured, “and he told me he would bring me straight back before uncle got home, and he brought me here into this room, but Agnes was not here.  I could not find her.  Then he locked the door and would not let me out, and I have been hungry and cold.  And when I cried, he would kick me, and that made me sick, I think.  Do take me home, uncle, before he comes, and I will never go away again!”

CHAPTER XIX.

During this recital Mr. Bristed and I exchanged glances of horror.  We could not speak.  When it was finished, he said: 

“Agnes, order the coach.  I must take him away from this place.”

I felt that the boy was too feeble to move, but I dared not suggest it.  I too wanted him removed from the baneful influences of the house.  We proposed to carry him down on the pallet, and thus convey him to the carriage.  One hour or more elapsed before everything was in readiness.  While we were moving him Richard appeared, unannounced.  A wild, unearthly scream from Herbert first gave notice of his arrival.