"Also a letter from the University of Stockholm. They propose that You should visit the City in the course of the Summer and——"
"Yes, yes! I know!" he rejoined impatiently. "I will attend to it all another time ... But not to-night, good Honeywood," he went on almost appealingly, like a Man wearied with many Tasks. "My mind is like a squeezed Orange to-night."
Then he held out his Hand to me—that beautiful, slender Hand of his, which I had so often kissed in the excess of my Gratitude—and added with gentle Indulgence:
"Let me be to-night, good Friend. Leave me to myself. I am such poor Company and am best alone."
I took his hand. It was burning hot, as if with inward Fever. All my Friendship for him, all my Love, was at once on the alert, dreading the ravages of some inward Disease, brought on mayhap by so much Soul-worry.
"I do not relish leaving You alone to-night," I said, with more gruffness than I am wont to display. "This room is easy of Access from the Park."
He smiled, a trifle sadly.
"Dost think," he asked, with a slight shrug of the shoulders, "that a poor Mountebank would tempt a midnight Robber?"
"No!" I replied firmly. "But my Lord Stour, wrapped to the eyes in his Mantle, hath prowled beneath these Windows for an hour." Then, as he made no comment, I continued with some Fervour: "A determined Man, who hates Another, can easily climb up to a first floor Window——"
"Tush, friend!" he broke in sharply. "I am not afraid of his Lordship ... I am afraid of nothing to-night, my good Honeywood," he added softly, "except of myself."