"It is the correspondial room in this wing. T'other room is in t'other wing," explained Miss Tabby.
"And yet, what difference? what difference?" he murmured, restlessly.
"Mother," whispered Miss Tabby, "it seems to me as I've see a this man before."
"Shouldn't wonder," replied the old lady in a low tone. "Mr. Horace Blondelle has been living at the Dubarry Springs, within ten miles of us, for the last thirteen or fourteen years, and it would be queer if you hadn't seen him before."
"Queer or not, I never did see Mr. Horace Blondelle, to know him as sich, in all my life before. And that an't what I mean neither, mother. I have seen this man in a fright somewhere or other."
"The man in a fright?"
"No; me in a fright when I saw him."
"Hush! don't whisper! See, it disturbs him," said the old lady.
And in truth the wounded man had turned to listen to them, and was gazing uneasily from one to the other.
When they became silent, he beckoned Miss Tabby to approach.