Other personages are now approaching the chamber. The lady glides out, calling,—
“Valerian!”
“Who is Valerian?” feebly interrogates the invalid. Once more the name of a man is making him unhappy.
“Don Valerian!” responds the doctor, in a tone that tells of respect for the individual so designated; “you shall see, señor. You are about to make his acquaintance. No; I am wrong about that. I forgot. You cannot now.”
“Cannot! Why?”
“Because you have made it already. Mira! He is there!”
This as a tall, elegant man, under thirty years of age, steps inside the chamber, while a still taller form appears in the doorway, almost filling up the space between the posts.
The latter is Walt Wilder, but the former—who is he? Don Valerian, of course!
“Colonel Miranda!” exclaims Hamersley, starting up on his couch. He has already dismissed all suspicious fears of Don Prospero; and now he no longer dreads Valerian.
“Colonel Miranda, is it you?”