Outside, consternation held the law-abiding element.
The Lion of the North lay dying, at the mercy of his foes at last.
IV
Through Blythe, Hector eventually turned the corner. He awoke one night to find himself suddenly calm, self-possessed and comfortable, though as weak as ever. At first, having no idea of what had happened to him, he stared childishly 'round the room, struggling for light. Then gradually he made out a man, wrapped in a blanket and lying at the foot of the bed.
"Who's that?" he asked. "Who's that?"
He thought he spoke loudly. Actually, his voice was little better than a whisper.
But the man in the blanket sat up, discovering the wan, intensely woe-begone face of Blythe.
"Did you call, sir?"
"Who's that? Is that——"
Try as he would, he could not remember the name of his own servant!