he went into another apartment, and laid down upon a couch,
showing great symptoms of debility and want of power.

And now it was a calm; Varney's stay at the cottage of the Bannerworths
was productive of a different mood of mind than ever he had possessed
before. He looked upon them in a very different manner to what he had
been used to. He had, moreover, considerably altered prospects; there
could not be the same hopes and expectations that he once had. He was an
altered man. He saw in the Bannerworths those who had saved his life,
and who, without doubt, had possessed an opinion, not merely obnoxious
to him, but must have had some fearful misgivings concerning his
character, and that, too, of a nature that usually shuts out all hope of
being received into any family.

But, in the hour of his need, when his life was in danger, no one else
would have done what they had done for him, especially when so
relatively placed.

Moreover, he had been concealed, when to do so was both dangerous and
difficult; and then it was done by Flora Bannerworth herself.

Time flew by. The mode of passing time at the cottage was calm and
serene. Varney had seldom witnessed anything like it; but, at the same
time, he felt more at ease than ever he had; he was charmed with the
society of Flora--in fact, with the whole of the little knot of
individuals who there collected together; from what he saw he was
gratified in their society; and it seemed to alleviate his mental
disquiet, and the sense he must feel of his own peculiar position. But
Varney became ill. The state of mind and body he had been in for some
time past might be the cause of it. He had been much harassed, and
hunted from place to place. There was not a moment in which his life was
not in danger, and he had, moreover, more than one case, received some
bodily injuries, bruises, and contusions of a desperate character; and
yet he would take no notice of them, but allow them to get well again,
as best they could.

[Illustration]

His escapes and injuries had made a deep impression upon his mind, and
had no doubt a corresponding effect upon his body, and Varney became
very ill.

Flora Bannerworth did all that could be done for one in his painful
position, and this greatly added to the depths of thought that
occasionally beset him, and he could scarcely draw one limb after the
other.

He walked from room to room in the twilight, at which time he had more
liberty permitted