"Fancies concerning what, Uncle George?"
"Well, something about red wheels and a drowned woman in a wood, a wall, and a door, and suchlike idle stuff. Y' see, Perry, not content with getting yourself wet through, you must let that brute of a horse o' yours throw you on to your head; doctors say 't is a marvel you're alive, and begad, Perry lad, 'tis our firm belief, Jervas and mine, that you'd ha' died if it hadn't been for your wonderful aunt and Diana—watched over you like the angels they are—saved your life betwixt 'em—"
The room seemed to go suddenly black and from the awful darkness my uncle babbled cheerily, while I, smitten by a nauseous faintness, strove to speak yet could not.
"Uncle George," said I at last, "is—is she here—now?"
"Who, Diana? No, lad. But be patient, she's only out riding with Barbara—was with you here all day, she'll be back soon—be patient, she's never long away from you these days, b'gad—"
"No!" cried I, shuddering, "no! Don't let her come near me—don't let her touch me—send her away or I shall die!"
"Good God!" ejaculated my uncle George, glancing about helplessly.
"He's off again—this cursed fever—must call Julia."
"Don't!" said I, reaching out a feeble hand in supplication. "This is—not fever, sir. This is my conscious self imploring you to keep her away from me, or I shall truly die—or run mad—"
"O Peregrine—O Peregrine," he stammered, in choking voice, "this can't be you—to say such things—so cruel—this is your old delirium—you are raving again—you must be—"
"Before God, sir, speaking in all sanity, I beg and implore that you will—keep her from me."