With that he hastily gave the young man a stimulant, and said,—
“Fall to here, men, and help me revive him, else he will be dead before we know it. Chafe his wrists and ankles. Hurry, men, but be gentle. That is good. Slow, there, John; those horny hands of yours are strong and rough. Samson, bring some strong coffee as quickly as God will let you. Rub him under the blankets, men; don’t let him chill. Maybe we can get him out of this pinch. The great thing now is to take him to my house.... Ah, that is good work, lads! His heart is waking up a little. That is good. That is very good.”
Dr. Malbone straightened up, and turned to the young woman, again fastening upon her the strange, severe, suspicious, half-threatening look that she had already learned to dread.
“I fear there is something unexplained here, madam, something concealed. I am not accusing you. My friend is a strange, fine man, and for good reasons he may have withheld something from you. But he would never hide anything from me. Did he give you a letter for any one?”
“He did not.”
“Have you seen him writing?”
“No.”
“Martin, hand me his coat.”
Dr. Malbone searched the pockets, and found a sealed letter addressed to him. He tore it open and read. As he read his astonishment grew. When he had finished, he turned a strange, pitying look upon the young woman.
“He charges me to give you this when I shall have read it.”