“I s’posed she lived in New York, but she got a ticket for Claremont,” he said.
For a moment Rex looked at him inquiringly.
“Claremont? Where is that?” he asked.
“Dunno,” Sam replied. “Maybe her brother lives there and not in New York with her.”
“Yes, that’s it, thank you,” Rex said, as if Sam had solved a question which was puzzling him a little.
The brother and Claremont were new to him, and in his hazy state of mind he could not quite comprehend them. But Sam had made it plain. The brother lived in Claremont and Irene had gone there.
“Yes, thank you,” he said again, while Sam looked curiously at him a moment, and then remembering the fever which had broken out in the village he spoke of it and how rapidly it was spreading.
“I shouldn’t wonder if you was comin’ down with it,” he said, as he noticed Rex’s flushed face and saw him shiver occasionally as if he were cold. “Be you real sick?” he asked, at last, and Rex replied:
“No—no; a little shaky, that’s all. I was startled at the well, that’s a fact, and the weather is so warm. I think, however, I’ll go home. That is the best place; yes, the best place, and I must lie down.”
He didn’t quite know what he was saying, as he rose slowly, swaying to one side, and putting out his hand to steady himself. Certainly there was something the matter, Sam thought, and he walked with him as far as the gate and offered to go the rest of the way if Rex would like to have him. But Rex declined his escort, and bidding him good afternoon went on toward home very slowly, with a feeling that something had happened to him or was going to happen, he did not know which. One fact, however, stood out distinctly in his mind. He had not sent the letter and he was glad. Irene had deceived him, and he must wait till he saw her, and then—He did not know what then. He was only conscious of a sense of great relief as if he had escaped a danger, but by the time he reached home the pain in his head overmastered every other feeling, and Colin found him sitting in the hall where he had dropped into a chair, very white and uncertain as to where he was or what was the matter.