"This is the poor wretch, Mary. He is asleep now. Do you think you can recognize who it is?"
It was Susan who spoke; she and Mary were standing alone by the bed-side of the unconscious Hudson.
Mary scanned his features closely—a look of pity on her face; but in reply to the other's question, shook her head—she did not know him.
"Yet from what he said this morning he evidently knows you," went on Susan.
"I cannot remember the face—and yet there is something in it"—Mary said, doubtfully, as she paused to consider again the altered features.
"I think I know what he is," interrupted Susan. "I made out from his ravings that he was a barrister."
"A barrister!" cried Mary, and she started back and her cheek blanched. Yes! she knew him now. And was this poor wretch so changed, so degraded, indeed the bright, young man who had first befriended her?
"Oh, Susan, I know who it is now. Poor fellow! poor fellow! I have not seen him for years—Then he was so different, so noble. Oh! what could have caused this? He was my first friend in the world, when I had no others and was sorely in need of one! Oh! what can I do? what can I do?" and she wrung her hands with anguish. "Oh, Susan! if I had but known of this."
Susan interrupted her. "If you had but known you might have prevented this. Yes! I dare say."
"What did the doctor say, Susan? Will he recover?"