Science-armed as he was, however, the doctor displayed no sign of trepidation, but sat down, waiting till his visitor came quickly back, threw his ulster over the back of the chair set for him, sank into it with a groan, dropped his face into his hands, and burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing.
“Hah!” said the doctor, rising, and laying his hand upon the young man’s shoulder. “You seem overwrought, and—”
The stranger started back at the touch, and was about to spring up, a cry of fear escaping his lips; and his slouched hat fell off, showing his wet brow, with the tangled hair clinging to it in a matted mass.
“I thought—” he gasped. “Ah, doctor, it is you!”
“Yes, sir; sit down and let’s see. You seem quite exhausted.”
“Don’t you know me, doctor?”
“Know you? Good heavens!” cried the doctor in astonishment. “Mark Heath?”
“Mark Heath,” said the visitor, sinking back with a groan.
“We thought you must be dead,” said the doctor.
“You thought I must be dead,” said the young man, passing his hand over his brow, and speaking in a strange and laboured way. “Yes, and I thought I must be dead—a dozen times over. I’m half dead now. What’s that?”