But
if _they_ were here, where was _he_, and in what new disguise had he
escaped from his poverty? A vague uneasiness caused her to hesitate and
return to the open door. She had nearly reached it when her eye fell on
the pallet which it partly illuminated. A singular resemblance in the
ragged heap made her draw closer. The faded quilt was a dressing-gown,
and clutching its folds lay a white, wasted hand.
The emigrant childhood of Rose Nott had been more than once shadowed by
scalping-knives, and she was acquainted with Death. She went fearlessly
to the couch, and found that the dressing-gown was only an enwrapping
of the emaciated and lifeless body of De Ferrieres. She did not retreat
or call for help, but examined him closely. He was unconscious, but not
pulseless; he had evidently been strong enough to open the door for air
or succor, but had afterwards fallen into a fit on the couch. She flew
to her father's locker and the galley fire, returned, and shut the door
behind her, and by the skillful use of hot water and whiskey soon had
the satisfaction of seeing a faint color take the place of the faded
rouge in the ghastly cheeks.
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