The boy stopped just inside the door, trembling, for as he appeared, the very ghost of a voice whispered feebly:
“That you, little un? How long you have been.” The next moment Dyke was on his knees by the rough couch, holding one of the thin hands in his and trying to speak; but it was as if something had seized him by the throat, for not a word would come.
Chapter Twenty Four.
Black Shadows.
“What has been the matter, young un?” piped Emson feebly. “I say, don’t look like that. Have I had a fall from my horse? I can’t lift my hand.”
Dyke told him at last as he clung to that hand, and Emson’s face grew more and more troubled.
“Don’t,” he whispered excitedly—“don’t stop. You—you may catch—the fever—too.”
“What!” cried Dyke, with a forced laugh, “me catch the fever! Well, who cares? I don’t. Bother! Who’s going to catch it, old chap? Why, I should have caught it a hundred times before now.”