| Do you blame me, friend, for weakness? |
| 'Twas the strength of passion slew me.—E. B. Browning. |
With an exclamation of dismay Sheridan raised his friend, and helped him to an arm-chair, and sat him back in a reclining position on it.
And at the same instant hurrying steps were heard approaching, and some of the servants who had been loitering in the hall, startled by the noise of the cry and the fall, rushed into the room to see what the matter could be.
Lyon Berners had not quite lost his consciousness, and the entrance of the men at once restored his senses.
His first act was to point to the letter which had fallen from his hand to the floor, and say:
"Pick it up and give it to me, and send these people away—quickly, Sheridan, if you please."
The young lawyer immediately went after the intruders, exclaiming,
"Come, come, old Joe, Tom, Bill; what do you mean by rushing in upon us in this way when we are having a good humored rough and tumble wrestling match among ourselves? Be off with you, you barbarians!"
And so with affected mirth, which really deluded the simple darkies, he turned them out of the drawing-room, and locked the door.
Then he went back to Mr. Berners and inquired: