der her chair. He sat down
noiselessly beside him. Once his uncle coughed, and in the effort drew
the coverlet close about his throat, his eyes still shut; but whether
from weakness or drowsiness, Harry could not tell. Presently he shifted
his body, and moving his head on the pillow, called softly:

"Jemima?"

The old woman bent over him.

"Yes, Marse George."

"Give me a little milk--my throat troubles me."

Harry drew back into the shadow cast over one end of the cot and rear
wall by the low lamp on the hearth. Whether to slip his hand gently over
his uncle's and declare himself, or whether to wait until he dozed again
and return in the morning, when he would be less tired and could better
withstand the shock of the meeting, was the question which disturbed
him. And yet he could not leave until he satisfied himself of just what
ought to be done. If he left him at all it must be for help of some
kind. He leaned over and whispered in Jemima's ear:

"Has he had a doctor?"

Jemima shook her head. "He wouldn't hab none; he ain't been clean beat
out till day befo' yisterday, an' den I got skeered an'--" She stopped,
leaned closer, clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming,
and staggered back to her chair.

St. George raised his head from the pillow and stared into the shadows.

"Who is talking? I heard somebody speak? Jemima--you haven't disobeyed
me, have you?"

Harry stepped noiselessly to the bedside and laid his fingers on the
sick man's wrist:

"Uncle George," he said gently.

Temple lowered his head as if to focus his gaze.

"Yes, there is some one!" he cried in a stronger voice. "Who are you,
sir?--not a doctor, are you? I didn't send for you!--I don't want any
doctor, I told my servant so. Jemima!--Todd!--why do you--"

Harry tightened his grasp on the emaciated wrist. "No, Uncle George,
it's Harry! I'm just back."

"What did he say, Todd? Harry!--Harry! Did he say he was Harry, or am I
losing my mind?"

In his eagerness to understand he lifted himself to a sitting posture,
his eyes wandering uneasily over the speaker's body, resting on his
head--on his shoulders, arms, and hands--as if trying to fix his mind on
something which constantly baffled him.

Harry continued to pat his wrist soothingly.

"Yes, it's Harry, Uncle George," he answered. "But don't talk--lie
down. I'm all right--I got in yesterday and have been looking for
you everywhere. Pawson told me you were at Wesley. I