, only carelessly indifferent to the doing of it, like him
who lay on that bed yonder, with one muscular arm, powerful even in its
wasted condition, thrown wearily above his head, and an undefinable look,
that seemed half pain, half fatigue, upon his haggard face.

Suddenly, while Gilbert Fenton was meditating in this idle desultory
manner, the sleeper awakened, looked full at him, and called him by his
name.

"Gilbert," he said very quietly, "is it really you?"

It was the first time, in all his long watches by that bed, that John
Saltram had recognised him. The sick man had talked of him often in his
delirium; but never before had he looked his former friend in the face
with one ray of recognition in his own. An indescribable thrill of pain
went through Gilbert's heart at the sound of that calm utterance of his
name. How sweet it would have been to him, what a natural thing it would
have seemed, to have fallen upon his old friend's breast and wept aloud
in the deep joy of this recovery! But they were friends no longer. He had
to remember how base a traitor this man had been to him.

"Yes, John, it is I."

"And you have been here for a long time. O God, how many months have I
been lying here? The time seems endless; and there have been so many
people round me--a crowd of strange faces--all enemies, all against me.
And people in the next room--that was the worst of all. I have never
seen them, but I have always known that they were there. They could not
deceive me as to that--hiding behind that door, and watching me as I lay
here. You might have turned them out, Gilbert," he added peevishly; "it
seems a hard thing that you could let them stay there to torment me."

"There has been no one in either of the rooms, John; no one but myself
and the hired nurse, the doctors, and Mrs. Pratt now and then. These
people have no existence out of your sick fancy. You have been, very ill,
delirious, for a long time. I thank God that your reason has been
restored to you; yes, I thank God with all my heart for that."

"Have I been mad?" the other asked.

"Your mind has wandered. But that has passed at last with the fever, as
the doctors hoped it might. You are calm now, and must try to keep
yourself quiet; there must be no more talk between us to-night."

The sick man took no notice of this injunction; but for the time was not
disobedient, and lay for some minutes staring at the watcher's face with
a strange half-vacant smile