THE VICAR
There seemed to Clarice to be a familiar look about this representation of a fern. The double sheet of writing paper was thick and glossy, with untrimmed edges, and on this the curved fern, with its fronds wonderfully delicate and distinct, had evidently been impressed with an india-rubber stamp, moistened with purple ink. The square-sized envelope bore no address, no stamp, and no seal. What could one make of such a missive? It appeared meaningless, yet to Clarice the fern itself recalled some faint memory. Probably that memory, whatever it might be, was clearer to Horran, and so had given him the shock of which he had complained.
After some consideration, Clarice slipped the envelope and sheet of paper into her pocket, thinking it advisable to remove them from Horran's sight. He had fallen into a deep sleep, and was breathing almost imperceptibly, his face looking singularly calm and unwrinkled. Whatever his disease might be, he certainly was not suffering pain; but it was strange that after a ten hours' sleep, he should again relapse into slumber. Still, from his looks there was no cause for alarm, so Clarice touched the bell, and when Chalks entered, she pointed silently to his unconscious master.
The valet was a round, rosy, stout little man, with twinkling black eyes, and a meek manner. He beamed with good nature and overflowed with the milk of human kindness. An attendant with so cheerful a disposition and smiling a countenance was quite the kind of nurse needed by an invalid, as his spirits were infectious, and frequently served to arouse the somewhat melancholy Mr. Horran from dismal musings. Chalks displayed no surprise at the sight of his patient asleep again, but lifted him in his arms and placed him gently on the bed. Clarice deliberated as to whether she should tell Chalks (who was intelligent and devoted to Mr. Horran) about the missive of the purple fern; but finally decided to say nothing concerning it to anyone until she had seen Anthony. The elusive memory, which would not come back to her in its entirety, suggested that Ackworth could account for the fern in some way.
"What do you think of him, Chalks?" she asked, indicating the unconscious man on the bed.
"I think's he's asleep, Miss," said Chalks, innocently.
"But why should he sleep again after ten hours' slumber?"
"Why should he be ill at all, Miss?" was the retort of the cheerful little man, "seeing that them doctors says as his organs is healthy, and that there ain't nothing whatever the matter with him?"
Miss Baird drew her white brows together in a perplexed way. "There must be some reason for his disease, Chalks."
"The doctors say there's no disease, Miss."