"Found 'em, miss," said July. "But it's cl'ar 'cross de valley. Howsomever, valley's safe, dey say, and you can ride right along ober."
"Was it Mr. Heathcote?" said Anne, as the mules trotted down a cross-road and over a bridge, July keeping up with a long loping run.
"Yes, miss; Heathcote's de name. I saw him, and moughty sick he looked."
"What did he say?"
"Fever's in him head, miss, and didn't say nothing. Senses clean done gone."
Anne had not thought of this, it changed her task at once. He would not know her; she could do all that was necessary in safety, and then go unrecognized away. "What will he say?" she had asked herself a thousand times. Now, he would say nothing, and all would be simple and easy.
"Dis yere's de place," said July, pausing.
It was a low farm-house with a slanting roof; there was a light in the window, and the door stood open. Anne, springing from her saddle, and followed by Diana, hastened up the little garden path. At first there seemed to be no one in the room into which the house door opened; then a slight sound behind a curtain in one corner attracted her attention, and going across, she drew aside the drapery. The head moving restlessly to and fro on the pillow, with closed eyes and drawn mouth, was that of Ward Heathcote.
She spoke his name; the eyes opened and rested upon her, but there was no recognition in the glance.
"Bless you! his senses has been gone for days," said the farmer's wife, coming up behind her and looking at her patient impartially. "He don't know nobody no more'n a day-old baby!"