Softly he approached the bed, his face full of tenderness and strong
pity. The lad, weak with protracted illness and mental torture, gave
one look in his face, and stretched out both his arms to him. How
could the curate give him but a hand? He put his arms round him as
if he had been a child.
"I knew you would come," sobbed Lingard.
"What else should I do but come?" returned Wingfold.
"I have seen you somewhere before," said Lingard--"in one of my
dreams, I suppose."
Then, sinking his voice to a whisper, he added:
"Do you know you came in close behind HER? She looked round and saw
you, and vanished!"
Wingfold did not even try to guess at his meaning.
"Hush, my dear fellow!" he said; "I must not let you talk wildly, or
the doctor might forbid my seeing you."
"I am not talking a bit wildly," returned Leopold. "I am as quiet as
a mountain-top. Ah! when I AM wild--if you saw me then, you might
say so!"
Wingfold sat down on the side of the bed, and took the thin, hot
hand next him in his own firm, cool one.
"Come now," he said, "tell me all about it. Or shall your sister
tell me?--Come here, please, Miss Lingard."
"No, no!" cried Leopold hastily; "I will tell you myself.
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