ll, and
Irene and his father were whispering secrets together in the parlour.
Then De Blacquaire was chattering there and saying all manner of things
which were not pertinent to the case in hand, and Irene was answering
him. John Jervase was talking by turns to all three, and was sometimes
absurdly sentimental, dropping tears on the listener's upturned face.
All this was so strange and confused, so much a dream of delirium, that
when at last the sufferer awoke to reason, he attached no meaning to it.

It was the 1st of February, as he found out afterwards, and he had been
crazy for five weeks. He stared feebly up at the ceiling and wondered
as to his whereabouts. He tried to lift a hand, but he might have worn
a gauntlet of lead, it felt so heavy; though, when at last he struggled
into a changed posture, it looked as if it were made of egg-shell
porcelain, it was so thin and worn.

'I wonder,' he said within himself--and this was his first conscious
thought, 'I wonder if I saved that sweep.' And then at his side he heard
De Blacquaire's voice.

'Thank you,' it was saying. 'You're awfully sweet and kind, and I'm very
much obliged to you. That is much easier.'

Polson was greatly interested, but in the very act of turning over to
look at his enemy, and to find out whom he was addressing, he fell into
a deep sleep. The next time he came back to consciousness it was dark,
except for a sickly burning oil lamp on a sconce fixed against a wall
at a little distance. He began to be aware of the fact that he was
amazingly hungry, and the memory of what he imagined to have been his
last meal came back to him. He laughed feebly, and he spoke.

'I wonder what the beggars did with the rest of that pig.'

There was the sound beside him as of an emotional snuffle, and John
Jervase blew his nose resoundingly, so that Polson knew that his father
was there before the old man bent his head above him. He was too weak
to be surprised at anything, and had no earthly notion as to his own
whereabouts.

'Why, you've come round again, Polly,' said his father. 'You know me,
don't you?'

It was in Polson's mind to return a hearty nod in the affirmative, but
all he managed to do was to close his eyes and open them again.

'Why, that's hearty!' said Jervase, smoothing the bedclothes above him
with a tremulous hand. 'That's hearty, old chap. They said you wouldn't
pull through, but I knew better all along. Now, you was to take this,
if you