At the period of his convalescence, friends from
Ireland (accompanied by a medical man of their own choosing) presented
themselves at the house, and asked for him by the name under which he
passed--Carrigeen. With every possible care, he was removed; to what
destination had never been discovered. From that time, all trace of him
had been lost.
Terrible news followed on the next page.
The subtle power of infection had asserted itself against the poor
mortal who had defied it. Hugh Mountjoy, stricken by the man who had
murdered his brother, lay burning under the scarlet fire of the fever.
But the nurse watched by him, night and day.
CHAPTER XXXIV
MY LORD'S MIND
HERE, my old-vagabond-Vimpany, is an interesting case for you--the cry
of a patient with a sick mind.
Look over it, and prescribe for your wild Irish friend, if you can.
You will perhaps remember that I have never thoroughly trusted you, in
all the years since we have known each other. At this later date in our
lives, when I ought to see more clearly than ever what an unfathomable
man you are, am I rash enough to be capable of taking you into my
confidence?
I don't know what I am going to do; I feel like a man who has been
stunned.
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