hand upon my side. At that instant I had given
my life to have heard Louisa's voice; but for one single word I had
bartered my heart's blood. But all was as hushed and still as midnight.
I thought I did hear something like a sigh; yes, and now I could
distinctly hear the rustling sound of some one as if turning in a chair.
Sir Simon Bellew, for some cause, or other, I knew never came into that
room. I listened again: yes, and now too I could see the shadow of
a figure on the floor. I sprang forward to the window and cried out,
'Louisa!' The next instant I was in the room, and my eyes fell upon the
figure of--Ulick Burke! Seated in a deep arm-chair, his leg resting on a
low stool, he was reclining at half-length, his face pale as death, and
his very lips blanched; but there rested on the mouth the same curl of
insolent mockery that marked it when first we met.

'Disappointed, I fear, sir,' said he, in a tone which, however weakened
by sickness, had lost nothing of its sneering bitterness.

'I confess, sir,' said I confusedly, 'that this is a pleasure I had not
anticipated.'

'Nor I either, sir,' replied he, with a dark frown. 'Had I been able to
ring the bell before, the letter that lies there should have been sent
to you, and might have spared both of us this "pleasure," as you are
good enough to call it.'

'A letter for me?' said I eagerly; then half ashamed at my own emotion,
and not indifferent to the sickly and apparently dying form before me, I
hesitated, and added, 'I trust that you are recovering from the effects
of your wound.'

[Illustration: 3-008]

'Damn the wound, sir; don't speak to me about it! You never came
here for that, I suppose? Take your letter, sir!' A purple flush here
coloured his features, as though some pang of agonising pain had shot
through him, and his livid lip quivered with passion. 'Take your letter,
sir!' and he threw it towards me as he spoke.

I stood amazed and thunderstruck at this sudden outbreak of anger, and
for a second or two could not recover myself to speak. 'You mistake me,'
said I.

'Mistake you? No, confound me! I don't mistake you; I know you well and
thoroughly! But you mistake me, ay, and damnably too, if you suppose
that because I 'm crippled here this insolence shall pass unpunished!
Who but a coward, sir, would come thus to taunt a man like me? Yes, sir,
a coward! I spoke it--I said it! Would you like to hear it over again?
Or if you don't like it, the reme