At this moment Mr. Norton, who had been conversing aside with Mr. Barker, entered.
“Ellen, my child, you here!” And seeing her gaze intently fixed upon the corpse-like form before her, he looked inquiringly upon Mr. Barker, who said,
“Oh, the poor fellow! he’s gone then—I don’t know that I ever pitied any one so much in my life. He appears to have seen better days.”
“Has he no friends?” asked Ellen.
“We do not know,” was the reply. “He was picked up in the street, almost frozen to death, about six months ago—and has been, until about three weeks since, confined in one of the cells. He raves a great deal about his mother, who, as he seems to suppose, was frozen to death—and a sister—and appears to be one of those maniacs who fancy all kinds of demons pursuing them. But, poor fellow! it’s all over with him now.”
“He is not dead,” said Ellen, “his pulse moves!” And as she again stooped to take his hand his lids raised, and his large ghastly eyes bent full upon her. Involuntarily laying her hand upon his marble brow, she said in sweet tones of sympathy, while the tears filled her eyes—“You are better now.”
Shrinking from her touch, while a lurid glare momentarily fired his eyes, in a hoarse whisper he said—
“Don’t, don’t come near me! They will drag you down to this horrible place where they have me. Don’t you see how their eye-balls glare at you!”
“They can’t hurt us,” said Ellen, in soothing accents—“and we have come to take you from them!” And calling for some cold water, she seated herself by his bed, and commenced bathing his temples.
“You are an angel,” murmured the poor maniac, gazing wildly upon her. “My mother, did she send you to release me? And Amy!”