"Raving, Tony?"
"Aye—all about some damned postchaise or other with red wheels."
"Postchaise?" said I, wondering. "Postchaise? How long have I lain here?"
"This will be the fourth day, Peregrine."
"Four days!" said I. "Impossible!"
"I rode down yesterday on the off-chance of finding you here—and here you were, begad, raging in fever and cursing and swearing very creditably, 'pon my soul! And all George could do to hold you down—"
"I'm better now, Anthony—get up to-morrow—"
"For which God be thanked!" said he fervently, and seating himself upon the bed, he grasped my hand. "Peregrine," said he solemnly, "you have honoured me with your friendship and as your friend I make bold to offer you a friend's advice,—in heaven's name, old fellow, be more discreet!"
"In what particular, Anthony?"
"There is but one, Perry—only one, dear fellow, and spelt with five letters—woman."