Aleck Van Camp sought the region indicated by Sallie’s gaunt finger with some misgivings; but he was presently guided further by a clear voice.

“Come in this way, Mr. Van Camp, if you please!”

The voice led him to an open door, before which he stood, looking into a large, old-fashioned bedroom, from whose windows the white curtains fluttered in the breeze.  Miss Redmond was propped up with pillows on a horsehair-covered lounge, which stood along the foot of a monstrous bed.  She was clothed in some sort of wool wrapper, and over her feet was thrown a faded traveling rug.  By her side stood a chair on which were writing materials, Aleck’s note and card, and a half-written letter.  Agatha sat up as she greeted Aleck.

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Van Camp.  Will you come in?  I ask your pardon for not coming downstairs to see you, but I have been ill, and am not strong yet.”

She was about to motion Aleck to a chair, but stopped in the midst of her speech, arrested by his expression.  Aleck stood rooted to the door-sill, with a look of surprise on his face which amounted to actual amazement.  Thus apparently startled out of himself, he regarded Agatha earnestly.

“Will you come in?” Agatha repeated at last.

“Pardon me,” he said finally in his precise drawl, “but I confess to being startled.  You—­you bear such an extraordinary resemblance to some one I know, that I thought it must really be she, for a moment.”

Agatha smiled faintly.  “You looked as if you had seen a ghost.”

Aleck gazed at her again, a long, scrutinizing look.  “It does make one feel queer, you know.”

[Illustration:  “It does make one feel queer, you know.”]

“But now that you are assured that I’m not a ghost, will you sit down?  That chair by the window, please.  And I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you; for James Hambleton, your cousin, if he is your cousin, is here in this house, and he is ill—­very ill indeed.”

Aleck’s nonchalance had already disappeared, in the series of surprises; but at Agatha’s words a flush of pleasure and relief overspread his face.  He strode quickly over toward Agatha’s couch.

“Oh, I say—­old Jim—­I thought, I was afraid—­”

Agatha was touched by the evidences of his emotion, and her voice became very gentle.  “I fancy it is the same—­James Hambleton of Lynn?” Aleck nodded and she went on:  “That’s what he told me, the night we were wrecked.”

Agatha looked at Aleck, as if she would discover whether he were trustworthy or not, before giving him more of her story.  Presently she continued: 

“He’s a very brave, a very wonderful man.  He jumped overboard to save me, after I fell from the ladder; and then they left us and we swam ashore.  But long before we got there I fainted, and he brought me in, all the way, though he was nearly dead of exhaustion himself.  He had hemorrhage from overexertion, and afterward a chill.  And now there is fever.”