While he was thus musing, his father showed some indications of reviving. His eyelids fluttered and his lips worked slightly. Gilbert bent down and raised his father's head. With a deep sigh, Francis Eversleigh opened his eyes and stared at his son as at some stranger. But reviving still more, a light of recognition came into his face, and he moved his head.
"Are you better, father?" asked Gilbert.
Eversleigh made an effort to speak, but it failed; then he looked piteously at his son.
"I wish I had some brandy to give you," said Gilbert. "A doctor will be here in a few minutes."
At the mention of the word "doctor," Francis Eversleigh struggled to raise himself, and, with Gilbert's help, managed to get into a sitting position. Glancing about him in a weak and uncertain way, his eyes fell upon the body of Thornton; a frightful spasm seemed to shake him to pieces; then his eyes all at once blazed with light and life, but in an instant they became clouded and overcast.
"Morris Thornton—I remember," he said, speaking with great slowness, as though speech were exceedingly difficult to him.
He shut his eyes, as if he would shut out the sight of the dead man, while Gilbert watched him anxiously and supported him with his strong young arms.
Presently he opened his eyes again, looked at the body, and then at Gilbert. On his face was a great solemn interrogation which his son could scarcely fail to understand. Eversleigh was asking what did it all portend, but Gilbert did not speak; he himself could see no way out of the darkness surrounding the scene.
"What has happened?" asked the older man, but even as he spoke Gilbert felt his father's form was beginning to press more heavily on him.
"I do not know," the son replied.