"A thousand thanks, lady, for that assurance—a thousand sincere and grateful thanks!" exclaimed Markham, new life as it were animating his soul.
"Hush!" cried the banker's sister, placing her finger upon her lip: "you must not give way to excitement of feelings. You have been ill—very ill."
"How long, Signora, has this illness lasted?"
"Ten days," was the reply. "You have been delirious."
"Ten days!" ejaculated Richard. "Alas! poor Morcar—what will he think? where can he be?"
"Morcar is safe and knows that you are here, Signor," said the lady. "But do not excite yourself. Providence has allowed you to suffer, for its own wise and inscrutable purposes; but it never deserts the good and great."
"Ah! lady, how can I ever thank you sufficiently for the goodness of yourself and your brother towards one who is a perfect stranger to you?" said Markham, pressing the lady's hand respectfully to his lips.
"You are not altogether so much a stranger to us as you imagine," observed the banker's sister, with a mysterious but good-natured smile. "But I will not tantalize, nor excite you by keeping you in suspense. Your deceased countryman Thomas Armstrong was my brother's intimate friend."
"Is this possible?" cried Markham, overjoyed at such welcome intelligence. "Then Providence has not indeed deserted me!"
"I will now hasten and fetch my brother to see you," said the lady. "He is burning with impatience for the moment when he can converse with you."