"Who?"
"Mr. Gracewood, from the upper Missouri," I replied, in a whisper.
"Is it possible!"
At this moment the invalid tottered through the open door, and stood before us.
"I knew it!" said he; "I knew it!"
"What?" inquired Mr. Rockwood.
"That my brother had come. You need not attempt to conceal it from me. I heard his voice all night long. He is in the next room."
The planter looked at me, and I looked at him. It was not probable that the invalid had heard his brother's voice all night long; and it was possible that, whatever the fact might be, he was laboring under a delusion.
"Be calm, Mr. Gracewood," said the planter.