"They may be in the arbour," said John to himself, as looking round, he saw nothing of his friend and his friend's sister.
"I won't disturb them," he added, considerately; "but I may as well let them know that I am here."
So saying, he walked on, and with a previous considerate premonitory little cough, presented himself at the entrance of the arbour.
"Good afternoon, Miss Wilson," said he, as he discovered the objects of his search, seated as we have described. "I do not come to disturb you; but I wanted a few words with Walter, and not finding him at Low Beech—"
"Hush!" said Elizabeth, looking up from the needlework on which her attention had been occupied. "Walter is asleep," she whispered; "and I shouldn't like him to be woke up. He has had such a nice, long, quiet sleep, without his cough disturbing him as it does of nights. And it will be so good for him."
While Elizabeth was speaking, Tincroft's attention was principally directed towards the sleeper on the opposite side of the arbour, who was quietly resting, with his eyes closed, and one arm loosely hanging down by his side, while his sister's shawl, folded round him, somewhat shaded the lower half of his countenance.
"I wrapped him up in my shawl," continued Elizabeth, in the same guarded tones, "for fear he should get chilled."
"Yes, I see, I see," said John, still scrutinising the sleeper. Then he entered the arbour, and gently glided to his side.
"You won't wake him, please," said Elizabeth, softly.
"No, no, I won't wake him," responded John; but, nevertheless, he ventured to take the nerveless hand in his own. It was deadly cold, he thought, as he loosened it, and it dropped helplessly into its former position. Then he laid his hand on the sleeper's temple, and looked more closely into his face, before he turned to the anxiously watching and now alarmed sister, who gasped—