“Why, man,” he said, “I was going to get you something to take—something to calm you. It is impossible for you to go on like this.”
The young man looked at him wildly.
“I can’t help it,” he said, calming down. “I have been hunted till I am afraid of everybody. Save me, doctor, for you can.”
“Lie down, then; there: that’s better.”
“Yes. I am so helpless and so weak,” the poor fellow moaned. “The brandy kept me up, but it makes me wild.”
“Then you shall have something that will calm you, and not make you wild,” said the doctor; and he went out of the room, leaving his visitor lying down with his eyes closed.
But the moment he was alone, Mark Heath started up on one arm, listening, and thrust his hand into his breast. He was listening for the unlocking of a door; but he heard the chink of a glass and the faint gurgle of some fluid, and he sank back with a sigh of relief.
“Rich—my darling,” he said softly; “it is for you, sweet—for you!”
“There,” said the doctor, re-entering with a glass; “drink that, and you must have some sleep. We shall soon get you right.”
“Heaven bless you, doctor!” cried the young man, hysterically pressing his hand after draining the glass. “I feel in sanctuary here. Ah,” he sighed, as he sank back, “to be at rest once more, and safe! Doctor, you must guard over me and what I have here.”