We went on board the next steamer that started, and in two hours we landed at Greenock. I led the way to the small lodging in which I had left my patient; and leaving Douglas at the door, went in to inquire into the state of the sufferer’s health, and to prepare him for his visitor. I found him asleep; but his was not the slumber that refreshes—the restless and unquiet spirit within was disturbing the rest of the fevered and fatigued body. His flushed cheek lay upon one arm, while his other was every now and then convulsively raised above his head, and his lips moved with indistinct mutterings.
“He is asleep,” said I to Douglas; “we must wait till he awakens.”
“Oh, let me look at him,” said he; “it can do no harm. He must be an old shipmate of poor Harry’s; perhaps he has some memento of him for me.”
“Very well,” said I; “you may come in; but make as little noise as possible.”
We walked up gently to the bed; Douglas looked earnestly at the sleeper, and, suddenly raising his clasped hands, he exclaimed—
“Merciful heaven! it is Henry himself!”
The poor patient started with a wild and fevered look.
“Who called me? I thought I heard Charles’ voice! Where am I? Give way in the boat!—oh, spare me, spare me, Charles!—Fire!—Down with them! Hurra!”—And, waving his hands above his head, he sunk down again on has bed, exhausted.
He soon fell into a deep slumber, which lasted for some hours. I was sitting by his bedside when he awoke.
“How do you feel now?” said I.