out fail," said he; "I may want you
to go for the doctor again."

She went; and Railsford, as he listened to the clatter of her boots
across the quadrangle, felt more than ever utterly alone. He set
himself to clear the room as far as possible of all unnecessary
furniture. The poor fellow's things lay about in hopeless confusion.
Evidently he had had it in his mind to pack up yesterday; but had felt
too ill to carry out his purpose, and gone to bed intending to finish in
the morning.

Flannels, running-shoes, caps, books, linen, and papers lay scattered
over the room, and Railsford, as he gathered them together and tried to
reduce the chaos to order, felt his heart sink with an undefined
apprehension.

Yesterday, perhaps, this little array of goods and chattels meant much
to the young master who called them his. To-day, what cared he as he
lay there tossing feverishly on his bed, muttering his Greek verses and
moaning over his sore throat, whose they were, and who touched them?
And to-morrow--?

Railsford pulled himself together half angrily. A nice fellow, he, for
a sick nurse?

Suddenly he came upon a desk with the key in the lock. Perhaps this
might contain the longed-for address. He opened it and glanced inside.
It was empty. No. There was only a paper there--a drawing on a card.
Railsford took it up and glanced at it, half absent. As his eyes fell
on it, however, he started. It was a curious work of art; a sketch in
pen and ink, rather cleverly executed, after the model of the old Greek
bas-reliefs shown in the classical dictionaries. It represented what
first appeared to be a battle scene, but what Railsford on closer
inspection perceived was something very different.

The central figure was a man, over whose head a sack had been cast,
which a tall figure behind was binding with cords round the victim's
neck and shoulders. On the ground, clutching the captive's knees with
his arms, and preparing to bind them, sat another figure, while in the
background a third, with one finger to his lips, expressive of caution,
pointed to an open door, evidently of the dungeon intended for the
prisoner. It was an ordinary subject for a picture of this kind, and
Railsford might have thought nothing of it, had not his attention been
attracted by some words inscribed in classic fashion against the figures
of the actors in this little drama.

Under the central figure of the captive he read in Greek capitals the