e?"

"I? Hadn't an idea of it, Mrs. Clover!"

"But you know something about him. He tells me you do. He wants to see
you. There's only one thing I ask--has he been doing wrong? Oh, do tell
me that!"

Gammon protested that he knew nothing of the kind, and added that he
had only seen the man once, for a minute, now more than a month ago.

"And you kept it from me!" said his friend reproachfully. "I didn't
think you'd have done that, Mr. Gammon!"

"There was a reason. I shouldn't have thought of doing it if there
hadn't been a good reason."

"Never mind. I won't interfere. I feel as if it had nothing to do with
me. Will you go upstairs to him? He looks to me as if he hadn't very
long to live, indeed he does. Listen, that's his cough! Oh, I am so
upset. It came so sudden. And to think you'd seen him and never told
me! Never mind, go up to him, if you will, and see what he wants with
you."

Gammon did her bidding. He ascended lightly and tapped at the door Mrs.
Clover indicated. A cough sounded from within; then a voice which the
visitor recognized, saying, "Come in." On the bed, but fully dressed,
lay a tall, meagre man, with a woollen comforter about his neck. The
room was in good order, and warmed by a fire, which the sufferer's
condition seemed to make very necessary. He fixed his eyes on Gammon,
as if trying to smile, but defeated in the effort by pain and misery.

"I'm here, you see," he said hoarsely. "There's no doubt about me now."

"Got a bad cold, eh?" replied the other, as cheerfully as he could.

"Yes, a cold. Always have a cold. Would you mind reaching me the
kettle?"

He poured out some brandy from a bottle which stood on the floor, and
mixed it with a little hot water. Gammon the while observed him with
much curiosity. In five years or a little more he had become an old and
feeble man; his thin hair was all but completely grey, his flesh had
wasted and discoloured, his hand trembled, his breath came with
difficulty. Present illness accounted perhaps for the latter symptoms;
but, from that glimpse of him in Norton Folgate, Gammon had known that
he was much aged and shaken. Hat, overcoat, and muffler had partly
disguised what was now evident. He spoke with the accent of an educated
man, and in the tone of one whom nature has endowed with amiable
qualities. The bottle beside him seemed to explain certain
peculiarities of his manner. When he had drunk thirstily he raised
himself to a sitting posture