Bayard was about to yield to his weariness, and crawl into his own bed, thinking to see his uncle in the morning, as a sane man should, when his attention was attracted by a slight sound in Mr. Worcester’s room, and something about it struck the young man unpleasantly.
Without noise he opened the door of the bath-room intervening between his own and his uncle’s apartments. Then he perceived a crack of light at the threshold of Mr. Worcester’s closed door.
As he stood uncertain, and troubled, the sound which he had heard was repeated. It seemed to resemble the effort of difficult breathing, and was accompanied by a slight groan.
Then a thick voice called,—
“Partredge?”
“Partredge always did sleep like the dead,” thought Bayard. “I hope he doesn’t neglect my uncle, now he is growing old.”
“Nancy?” summoned the voice again.
Nancy always woke easily and good-naturedly. But Nancy heard nothing now. Bayard, afraid to shock the old man by so astounding an appearance, was moving quickly and quietly to find the servants, when something caused him to change his purpose. Apparently, Mr. Worcester had tried to reach the bell—it was one of the old-fashioned kind, with a long, embroidered bell-handle—he had partly crossed the room, when Bayard intercepted the fall, and caught him.
The gas was lighted, and recognition was instant. Without shock, it seemed without surprise, Hermon Worcester lay back in the young man’s arms, and smiled pleasantly into his face.
“I thought you would use the latch-key—some night,” he said with difficulty. “You’ve chosen the right one, Manuel. The servants did not hear—and—I’m afraid I’m not—quite—well, my boy.”