“Yes,” she replied; and then, leaning down, she whispered:  “I do love you; I have loved you ever since I understood you.  Oh, live for my sake!  What would life be now without you?”

“Now you shall stay.”

“See, doctor, he is quiet while I am with him,” she said, pleadingly.

“And only while you are with me.  I know I should die if you were sent away.”

“She shall stay with you, Mr. Merwyn, if you obey my orders in other respects.  I give you my word,” said Dr. Henderson.

“Very well.  Now have patience with me.”

“Thomas,” whispered the physician, “have the strongest beef tea made, and keep it on hand.”

Mr. Vosburgh intercepted the man, and was briefly told what had taken place.  “Now there is a chance for them both,” the agitated father muttered, as he restlessly paced the room.  “Oh, how terribly clouded would our lives be, should he die!”

CHAPTER LII.

Mother and son.

For a time Merwyn did keep quiet, but he soon began to mutter brokenly and unintelligibly.  Marian tried to remove her hand to aid the physician a moment, but she felt the feeble tightening of his clasp, and he cried, “No, no!”

This, for days, was the last sign he gave of intelligent comprehension of what was going on around him.

“We must humor him as far as we can in safety,” the doctor remarked, in a low whisper, and so began the battle for life.

Day was now dawning, and Thomas was despatched for a very skilful surgeon, who came and gave the help of long experience.

At last Dr. Henderson joined Mr. Vosburgh in the breakfast-room, and the latter sent a cup of coffee to his daughter by the physician, who said, when he returned:  “I think it would be well for me to know something about Mr. Merwyn’s experience during the past few days.  I shall understand his condition better if I know the causes which led to it.”

Mr. Vosburgh told him everything.

“Well,” said the doctor, emphatically, “we should do all within human effort to save such a young fellow.”

“I feel that I could give my life to save him,” Mr. Vosburgh added.

Hours passed, and Merwyn’s delirium became more pronounced.  He released his grasp on Marian’s hand, and tossed his arms as if in the deepest trouble, his disordered mind evidently reverting to the time when life had been so dark and hopeless.

“Chained, chained,” he would mutter.  “Cruel, unnatural mother, to chain her son like a slave.  My oath is eating out my very heart.  She despises me as a coward.  Oh if she knew what I was facing!” and such was the burden of all his broken words.

The young girl now learned the secret which had been so long unfathomed.  Vainly, with streaming eyes, she tried at first to reassure him, but the doctor told her it was of no use, the fever must take its course.  Yet her hand upon his brow and cheek often seemed to have a subtle, quieting spell.