ton's bedroom door, and speaking in low tones. Mr. Gregory, who happened to be in front, was feeling for the handle, and chanced to run his fingers over the panels. Before Brown could answer, there was a terrible cry from within the room.
'In God's name, who is that?' were the first words they heard. 'Brown, is it?'
'Yes, sir—me, sir, and Mr. Gregory,' Brown hastened to answer, and there was an audible groan of relief in reply.
They entered the room, which was darkened against the afternoon sun, and Mr. Gregory saw, with a shock of pity, how drawn, how damp with drops of fear, was the usually calm face of his friend, who, sitting up in the curtained bed, stretched out a shaking hand to welcome him.
'Better for seeing you, my dear Gregory,' was the reply to the Rector's first question; and it was palpably true.
After five minutes of conversation Mr. Somerton was more his own man, Brown afterwards reported, than he had been for
