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 days. He was able to eat
a more than respectable dinner, and talked confidently of being fit to
stand a journey to Coblenz within twenty-four hours.
'But there's one thing,' he said, with a return of agitation which Mr
Gregory did not like to see, 'which I must beg you to do for me, my dear
Gregory. Don't,' he went on, laying his hand on Gregory's to forestall
any interruption--'don't ask me what it is, or why I want it done.
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