rocured
some cold water, and bathed Tyrrell's temples for several moments before
he recovered. He opened his eyes slowly, and looked carefully round with
a fearful and suspicious glance: "Gone--gone--(he muttered)--ay--what
did he here at such a moment?--vengeance--for what?--I could not
tell--it would have killed her--let him thank his own folly. I do not
fear; I defy his malice." And with these words, Tyrrell sprung to his
feet.

"Can I assist you to your home?" said I; "you are still unwell--pray
suffer me to have that pleasure."

I spoke with some degree of warmth and sincerity; the unfortunate man
stared wildly at me for a moment, before he replied. "Who," said he,
at last, "who speaks to me--the lost--the guilty--the ruined, in the
accents of interest and kindness?"

I placed his arm in mine, and drew him out of the yard into the open
street. He looked at me with an eager and wistful survey, and then, by
degrees, appearing to recover his full consciousness of the present, and
recollection of the past, he pressed my hand warmly, and after a short
silence, during which we moved on slowly towards the Tuileries, he
said,--"Pardon me, Sir, if I have not sufficiently thanked you for your
kindness and attention. I am now quite restored; the close room in which
I have been sitting for so many hours, and the feverish excitement of
play, acting upon a frame very debilitated by ill health, occasioned my
momentary indisposition. I am now, I repeat, quite recovered, and will
no longer trespass upon your good nature."

"Really," said I, "you had better not discard my services yet. Do suffer
me to accompany you home?"

"Home!" muttered Tyrrell, with a deep sigh; "no--no!" and then, as if
recollecting himself, he said, "I thank you, Sir, but--but--" I saw his
embarrassment, and interrupted him.

"Well, if I cannot assist you any further, I will take your dismissal. I
trust we shall meet again under auspices better calculated for improving
acquaintance."

Tyrrell bowed, once more pressed my hand, and we parted. I hurried on up
the long street towards my hotel.

When I had got several paces beyond Tyrrell, I turned back to look at
him. He was standing in the same place in which I had left him. I saw
by the moonlight that this face and hands were raised towards Heaven. It
was but for a moment: his attitude changed while I was yet looking, and
he slowly and calmly continued his way in the same direction as myself.
When I r