His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Hicks, who wore his usual imperturbable look, which seemed as much a part of him as his livery of gray turned up with black.
"How has our patient been since I left him an hour ago?" asked Randolph.
"He is no longer delirious," answered Mr. Hicks. "About a half an hour ago, he asked me the time of day, in a tone, and with a look, that showed that he had come to his senses."
"You conversed with him?"
"No, sir. He fell into a quiet sleep, and I left him in charge of a faithful servant. Don't you think we had better change the bandages on his back, after awhile? He has been sadly abused——"
"And I came to the scene of conflict just in time to save his life, and bear him to my home,—I will see him at once, and then tell you when to dress his wounds."
He moved toward the door.
"Has Mr. Lynn returned?" he said, turning his head over his shoulder.
"About half an hour since, he went up stairs to his room," returned Mr. Hicks.
Randolph left the parlor and hastened toward his own chamber, determined to make one more effort to change the hard nature, the unrelenting hatred of his brother. As he passed along the corridor, conscious that the most important crisis, if not the all-important crisis, of his life was near, his thoughts mingling the image of Eleanor with the proud memory of his lineage on the father's side, were intense and all-absorbing. For the time he forgot the taint in his blood.