and somewhat
tired--" He stopped and looked vacantly about him, as though not clearly
remembering where he was.

Quackinboss had, however, been keenly examining him while he spoke, and
marked in his wildly excited eyes and flushed cheeks the signs of some
high excitement "You ain't noways right; you 're wet through and cold,
besides," said he, taking his hand in both his own. "Do you feel ill?"

"Yes; that is--I feel as if--I--had--lost my way," muttered he, with
long pauses between the words.

"There 's nothing like bed and a sound sleep for that," said the other,
gently; while, taking Layton's arm, he led him quietly along towards
the half-open door of his bedroom. Passively surrendering himself to
the other's care, Alfred made no resistance to all he dictated, and,
removing his dripping clothes, he got into bed.

"It is here the most pain is now," said he, placing his palm on his
temple,--"here, and inside my head."

"I wish I could talk to that servant of yours; he don't seem a very
bright sort of creetur, but I could make him of use." With this muttered
remark, Quackinboss walked back into the sitting-room, where Layton's
man was now extinguishing the lights and the fire. "You have to keep
that fire in, I say--fire--great fire--hot water. Understand me?"

"'Strissimo! si," said the Tuscan, bowing courteously.

"Well, then, do you fetch some lemons--lemons. You know lemons, don't
you?"

A shrug was the unhappy reply.

"Lemong--lemong! You know _them?_"

"Limoni! oh si." And he made the sign of squeezing them; and then,
hastening out of the room, he speedily reappeared with lemons and other
necessaries to concoct a drink.

"That's it,--bravo, that's it! Brew it right hot, my worthy fellow,"
said Quackinboss, with a gesture that implied the water was to be boiled
immediately. He now returned to Layton, whom he found sitting up in the
bed, talking rapidly to himself, but with all the distinctness of one
perfectly collected.

"By Marseilles I could reach Paris on Tuesday night, and London
on Wednesday. Isn't there a daily packet for Genoa?" asked he, as
Quackinboss entered.

"Well, I guess there's more than 's good of 'em," drawled out the other;
"ill-found, ill-manned, dirty craft as ever I put foot in!"

"Yes, but they leave every day, don't they?" asked Lay-ton,
impatiently.

"I ain't posted up in their doin's, nor I don't want to, that's a
fact We went ashore with a calm sea and a full moon, com