be caught at Bellingham. He knew
where to find her now, through the intervention of Miss Davenport, and
thither he was flying, an arrow loosed from the bow: thither, in spite
of fathers and friends and plotters, to claim her, and take her, and
stand with her against the world.

They were both thoroughly wet when they entered Bellingham, and
Tom's visions were of hot drinks. He hinted the necessity for inward
consolation to his master, who could answer nothing but "Tom! Tom! I
shall see her tomorrow!" It was bad--travelling in the wet, Tom hinted
again, to provoke the same insane outcry, and have his arm seized and
furiously shaken into the bargain. Passing the principal inn of the
place, Tom spoke plainly for brandy.

"No!" cried Richard, "there's not a moment to be lost!" and as he
said it, he reeled, and fell against Tom, muttering indistinctly of
faintness, and that there was no time to lose. Tom lifted him in his
arms, and got admission to the inn. Brandy, the country's specific, was
advised by host and hostess, and forced into his mouth, reviving him
sufficiently to cry out, "Tom! the bell's ringing: we shall be late,"
after which he fell back insensible on the sofa where they had stretched
him. Excitement of blood and brain had done its work upon him. The
youth suffered them to undress him and put him to bed, and there he lay,
forgetful even of love; a drowned weed borne onward by the tide of the
hours. There his father found him.

Was the Scientific Humanist remorseful? He had looked forward to such a
crisis as that point in the disease his son was the victim of, when the
body would fail and give the spirit calm to conquer the malady, knowing
very well that the seeds of the evil were not of the spirit. Moreover,
to see him and have him was a repose after the alarm Benson had sounded.
"Mark!" he said to Lady Blandish, "when he recovers he will not care for
her."

The lady had accompanied him to the Bellingham inn on first hearing of
Richard's seizure.

"What an iron man you can be," she exclaimed, smothering her intuitions.
She was for giving the boy his bauble; promising it him, at least, if he
would only get well and be the bright flower of promise he once was.

"Can you look on him," she pleaded, "can you look on him and persevere?"

It was a hard sight for this man who loved his son so deeply. The youth
lay in his strange bed, straight and motionless, with fever on his
cheeks, and altered eyes.

Old