Sir Francis looked up as the young man entered, to gaze at him in a confused, dazed way, as if he did not quite comprehend the meaning of his coming.
“Was not this rather foolish of you, Sir Francis?” said Harry, gently. “Indeed you are in no condition for going out. I see how it is, though, and I feared it when you put in the advertisement; the very name of the chambers in Regent Street was enough to bring down a host of reward-seekers. Why did you not take my advice, and refer them to the police?”
“I couldn’t, Clayton—I couldn’t,” groaned Sir Francis. “You do not know what I feel, or you would not speak to me as you do. Poor lad!—poor lad!”
Harry was silent for a few minutes, and then he spoke again.
“It was, of course, a useless quest, sir?”
“I can’t tell—I don’t know,” said Sir Francis, feebly. “I am confused and troubled in the head, Clayton, and I have been trying hard to recollect what it all was, and what I did; but as soon as I grasp anything, it seems to glide from me again.”
“Lie down, sir,” said Harry, gently, and he passed an arm beneath that of the old man.
“Not yet—not yet—not yet, Clayton. I think I have it now. Yes, that is it—I have it. The man came and said they had found some one by the river-side, and I went half-way with him; and then I suppose I must have fainted, for I can recollect no more, only that I was brought back—or no, I think I must have found my way back by myself. This weakness is a cruel trial just now.”
“You must put your strength to the test no more, sir,” said Harry, firmly. “Try and believe that I will do all that is possible. Indeed, I will leave no stone unturned.”
“I know it, Clayton—I know it!” exclaimed Sir Francis; “and indeed I do try, but this suspense is at times more than I can bear.”