"I know I am late," acknowledged William. "Samuel Lynn took up a little of my time; and I have been sitting some minutes in the drawing-room."
"Of course!" was the fractious answer. "Any one before me."
"Samuel Lynn is a great deal better," continued William. "His mind is restored."
Henry received the news ungraciously, making no rejoinder; but his side was twitching with pain. "How is she?" he asked. "Is the shame fretting out her life?"
"Not at all. She is very well. As to shame—as you call it—I believe she has not taken much to herself."
"It will kill her: you'll see. The sooner the better for her I should say."
William sat down on the edge of the sofa, on which the invalid was lying. "Henry, I would set you right upon a point, if I thought it would be expedient to do so. You do go into fits of excitement so great, that it is dangerous to speak."
"Tell out anything you have to tell. Tell me, if you choose, that the house is on fire, and I must be pitched out of window to escape it. It would make no impression upon me. My fits of excitement have passed away with Anna Lynn."
"My news relates to Anna."
"What if it does? She has passed away for me."