incoherently.

Then he relapsed into silence. After a moment, the driver, who was
supporting him at the back, looked over at his face. The eyes were
closed, and the lips were hanging.

"He's gone off unconscious," said the flyman. "Ain't ye got a bed
handy?"

At that moment Mrs. Drayton came hastily down-stairs, in a fever of
agitation.

"You've got to get him up to his room," she said, between gusts of
breath.

"That's a job for two men, ain't it, missis?" said the driver.

Mercy had loosened Paul's collar, and with a nervous hand she was
bathing his burning forehead.

"Oh, tell Mr. Christian," she said; "say he has fainted."

Mrs. Drayton hobbled back. In another instant there was a man's step
descending the stairs. Hugh Ritson entered the bar. He looked down at
the unconscious man and felt his pulse. "When did this happen?" he
asked, turning to Mercy.

"He said he was feeling ill when I met him; then he was worse in the
train, and when we reached Hendon he was too dizzy to stand," said
Mercy.

"His young woman, ain't it?" said the flyman, aside, to Hugh.

Hugh nodded his head slightly. Then, turning toward Mrs. Drayton, with a
significant glance, "Your poor son is going to be ill," he said.

The landlady glanced back with a puzzled expression, and began in a
blundering whimper, "The poor gentleman--"

"The old lady's son?" said the flyman, tipping his finger in the
direction of the landlady.

"Paul Drayton," said Hugh.

Mercy saw and heard all. The tears suddenly dried in her eyes, which
opened wide in amazement. She said nothing.

Hugh caught the altered look in her face.

"Mrs. Drayton," he said, "didn't you say you had something urgent for
Mercy to do? Let her set about it at once. Now, driver, lend a
hand--upstairs; it's only a step."

They lifted Paul Ritson between them, and were carrying him out of the
bar.

"Where's the boy?" asked Hugh. "Don't let him get in the way. Boys are
more hindrance than help," he added, in an explanatory tone.

They had reached the foot of the stair. "Now, my man, easy--heavy, eh?
rather."

They went up. Mercy stood in the middle of the floor with a tearless and
whitening face.

Half a minute later Hugh Ritson and the flyman had returned to the bar.
The phantom of a smile lurked about the flyman's mouth. Hugh Ritson's
face was ashen, and his lips quivered.

The boxes and portmanteaus which Paul and Greta had left in the bar
three nights ago still lay