“Half an hour! you speak of half an hour to one whose years are minutes now!” said he, in a broken voice. “This poor brain, Dora, is already wandering. The strange things I have seen so lately—that poor fellow come back after so many years—so changed, so sadly changed—but I knew him through all the mist and vapor of this feverish state; I saw him clearly, my own dear Barry!” The word, as it were the last barrier to his emotion, brought forth a gush of tears; and burying his face within the bedclothes, he sobbed himself to sleep. As he slept, however, he continued to mutter about home and long passed years,—of boyish sports with his brother; childish joys and sorrows were all mingled there, with now and then some gloomier reveries of later days.
“He has been wandering in his mind!” whispered Lady Dorothea to her son, as he joined her in the darkened room. “He woke up, believing that he had seen his brother, and the effect was very painful.”
“Has he asked for me?” inquired the other.
“No; he rambled on about Mary, and having deserted her, and all that; and just as ill-luck would have it, here is a letter from Repton, exactly filled with the very same theme. He insists on seeing it; but of course he will have forgotten it when he awakes.”
“You have written to Scanlan?” asked he.
“Yes; my letter has been sent off.”
“Minutes are precious now. If anything should occur here,”—his eyes turned towards the sick-bed as he spoke,—“Merl will refuse to treat. His people—I know they are his—are hovering about the hotel all the morning. I heard the waiter whispering as I passed, and caught the words, 'No better; worse, if anything.' The tidings would be in London before the post.”
Lady Dorothea made no reply, and all was now silent, save the unequal but heavy breathings of the sick man, and the faint, low mutterings of his dream. “In the arras—between the window and the wall—there it is, Barry,” cried he, in a clear, distinct voice. “Repton has a copy of it, too, with Catty's signature,—old Catty Broon.”
“What is he dreaming of?” asked the young man.
But, instead of replying to the question, Lady Dorothea bent down her head to catch the now muttered words of the sleeper.