beginning at the first page, he ran the leaves through his
fingers, and turned them down at certain places, before he entered on
his reading. If Julius had looked over his brother's shoulder, instead
of only looking at him across the table, he would have seen that
Geoffrey passed by all the lighter crimes reported in the Calendar, and
marked for his own private reading the cases of murder only.

CHAPTER THE FIFTY-SECOND.

THE APPARITION.

THE night had advanced. It was close on twelve o'clock when Anne heard
the servant's voice, outside her bedroom door, asking leave to speak
with her for a moment.

"What is it?"

"The gentleman down stairs wishes to see you, ma'am."

"Do you mean Mr. Delamayn's brother?"

"Yes."

"Where is Mr. Delamayn?"

"Out in the garden, ma'am."

Anne went down stairs, and found Julius alone in the drawing-room.

"I am sorry to disturb you," he said. "I am afraid Geoffrey is ill. The
landlady has gone to bed, I am told--and I don't know where to apply for
medical assistance. Do you know of any doctor in the neighborhood?"

Anne, like Julius, was a perfect stranger to the neighborhood. She
suggested making inquiry of the servant. On speaking to the girl, it
turned out that she knew of a medical man, living within ten minutes'
walk of the cottage. She could give plain directions enabling any person
to find the place--but she was afraid, at that hour of the night and in
that lonely neighborhood, to go out by herself.

"Is he seriously ill?" Anne asked.

"He is in such a state of nervous irritability," said Julius, "that he
can't remain still for two moments together in the same place. It began
with incessant restlessness while he was reading here. I persuaded him
to go to bed. He couldn't lie still for an instant--he came down again,
burning with fever, and more restless than ever. He is out in the garden
in spite of every thing I could do to prevent him; trying, as he says,
to 'run it off.' It appears to be serious to _me._. Come and judge for
yourself."

He led Anne into the next room; and, opening the shutter, pointed to the
garden.

The clouds had cleared off; the night was fine. The clear starlight
showed Geoffrey, stripped to his shirt and drawers, running round and
round the garden. He apparently believed himself to be contending at the
Fulham foot-race. At times, as the white figure circled round and
round in the star-light, they heard him cheering for "the South." The