The girls glanced at one another. Bevis was plainly very ill. He looked ghastly, and his knees trembled so greatly that he had to lean against the wall of the cave.
"Where have you been all this week?" Mavis asked him.
"I don't know. Here mostly, I think. I thought I'd walk to Port Sennen and try to get on board a ship, but somehow I feel weak. Perhaps I could get off to-night if I tried."
"Come home, Bevis," persuaded Merle.
But he sank down again on to the bed of leaves which he had made, and drew the mackintosh coat over him.
"It's so cold," he shivered. "First I'm burning hot and then I'm cold. It's the curse of Cain!"
Mavis took Merle's arm, and drew her outside the cave.
"He's in a high fever, and simply raving," she whispered. "He's not fit to walk home even if we could get him to try. You go back to the farm and tell Mrs. Penruddock, and I'll stay here. We mustn't both leave him or he might wander off somewhere on to the cliffs. Be as quick as you can."
"I shall run all the way," declared Merle. "Oh, the poor boy. Think of staying here by himself the whole week."
Mavis went back into the cave, and kneeling down by Bevis tried to soothe him. She had been ill so often herself that she could sympathize as he shuddered and shivered. His hands were burning hot, and his great dark eyes shone like fires in his white face. She told him over and over again that Tudor was safe; but he scarcely seemed to understand, and kept moaning that he had murdered him.