regarding him with eyes ablaze.

But luckily at this moment the door opened, and Caleb appeared.
He was evidently much agitated; but at sight of Tamsin and the woeful
figure in the armchair, he halted on the threshold and stared dumbly.

"I think," said Tamsin, "you had better put your master to bed."

"Mussy 'pon us, what's been doin'?"

Briefly she told as much as she knew. With each successive sentence
Caleb's mouth and eyes opened wider.

"And now," she ended, "as Peter and Paul have been waiting for their
dinner this half-hour, I will be going. Don't trouble to come with
me; but attend to your master. Good-morning, sir."

She dropped him a low curtsey and was gone. He started up.

"Where be goin', sir? Sit down; you'm not fit to stir."

But Mr. Fogo had passed him, and was out of the room in a moment.
In spite of the pain that racked every limb, he overtook Tamsin in
the porch.

"What are you doing?" she cried. "Go back to bed."

As she faced him, he could see that her eyes were full of angry
tears. The sight checked him.

"It's--it's of no consequence," he stammered, "only I was going to
ask you to be my wife."

For answer she turned on her heel, and walked resolutely down the
steps.

Mr. Fogo stood and watched her until she disappeared, and then
crawled painfully back into the house.

"An' now, sir," said Caleb, as he led his master to bed, "warnin' et
es. This day month, I goes, unless--"

"Unless what, Caleb?"

"Well, sir, I reckons there be on'y wan way out o't, as the cat said
by the sausage-machine, an' that es--to marry Tamsin Dearlove."

"My dear Caleb," groaned Mr. Fogo, "I only wish I could! But I will
try again to-morrow."

CHAPTER XXIII.

HOW ONE LOVER TOOK LEAVE OF HIS WITS, AND TWO CAME TO THEIR SENSES.

But Mr. Fogo was not to try again on the morrow.

For Caleb, stealing up in the grey dawn to assure himself that his
master was comfortably asleep, found him tossing in a high fever, and
rowed down to Troy for dear life and the Doctor. Returning, he found
that the fever had become delirium. Mr. Fogo, indeed, was sitting up
in bed, and rattling off proposals of marriage at the rate of some
six a minute, without break or pause. He was very red and earnest,
rolled his eyes most strangely, and wandered in his address from
Tamsin to Geraldine, and back again with a vehemence that gravelled
all logic.

"Lord ha' mussy!" cried Caleb at last. "Do 'ee hush,