, which not a soul but himself would understand. The thought of
it made him feel old and empty; affected him like the news of a
death.--But MUST it be? Was there no other way out? Slow to take hold,
he was a hundred times slower to let go. Before now he had seen himself
sticking by a person through misunderstandings, ingratitude, deception,
to the blank wonder of the onlookers. Would he not be ready here, too,
to forgive ... to forget?

But he felt hot, hot to suffocation, and his heart was pounding in
uncomfortable fashion. The idea of stripping and plunging into ice-cold
water began to make a delicious appeal to him. Nothing surpassed such a
plunge after a broken night. But of late he had had to be wary of
indulging: a bath of this kind, taken when he was over-tired, was apt
to set the accursed tic a-going; and then he could pace the floor in
agony. And yet... Good God, how hot it was! His head ached
distractedly; an iron band of pain seemed to encircle it. With a sudden
start of alarm he noticed that he had ceased to perspire--now he came
to think of it, not even the wild gallop had induced perspiration.
Pulling up short, he fingered his pulse. It was abnormal, even for him
... and feeble. Was it fancy, or did he really find a difficulty in
breathing? He tore off his collar, threw open the neck of his shirt. He
had a sensation as if all the blood in his body was flying to his head:
his face must certainly be crimson. He put both hands to this top-heavy
head, to support it; and in a blind fit of vertigo all but lost his
balance in the saddle: the trees spun round, the distance went black.
For a second still he kept upright; then he flopped to the ground,
falling face downwards, his arms huddled under him.

The mare, all her spirit gone, stood lamb-like and waited. As he did
not stir she turned and sniffed at him, curiously. Still he lay prone,
and, having stretched her tired jaws, she raised her head and uttered a
whinny--an almost human cry of distress. This, too, failing in its
effect, she nosed the ground for a few yards, then set out at a gentle,
mane-shaking trot for home.

* * * * *

Found, a dark conspicuous heap on the long bare road, and carted back
to town by a passing bullock-waggon, Mahony lay, once the death-like
coma had yielded, and tossed in fever and delirium. By piecing his
broken utterances together Mary learned all she needed to know about
the case he had gone out to attend, and his desperate r