As he crouched on the floor, and looked anxiously up at the window, there was no trace in the cowering, shrivelled figure, in the scarred, inflamed face, out of which the bloodshot eyes peered in terror, of the gay, easy-mannered country gentleman _en amateur_, who had impressed Bram so strongly with his airy lightness of heart only sixteen months before. “Lock the door, Bram,” said he, presently, in a hoarse voice when he suddenly became conscious of the young man’s presence. “Lock the door!” Bram hastened to do so. He wanted to open it first to look out and see who it was that had inspired Mr. Biron with so much alarm. But Theodore restrained him by a violent gesture. “Lock it, lock it!” repeated he, as, evidently relieved to find a man in the house, he got up from the floor, and went with shivering limbs and chattering teeth towards the fire. “And now bolt the shutters--quick--and then on the other side!” He indicated with a nod the front of the house, but when Bram walked towards the door he shuffled after him, as if afraid of being left alone. Bram turned to cast a glance at the sofa and its occupant before leaving the room. Theodore, in a state of nervous alarm which made him watch every look, glanced back also. On seeing his daughter lying back with closed eyes on the cushions, he uttered a cry. “Claire, oh, oh, what will become of her? What will become of me?” And, utterly broken down, he covered his face with his shivering hands, and sobbed loudly. Bram wondered if he had heard all. “Come, come, be a man, Mr. Biron,” said he. “What is it you’re afraid of?” “That sh--she--devil who--who half-blinded me, who threw that stuff over me!” sobbed Theodore. “She’s followed me--from Holme Park--I managed to dodge her among the trees of the park; but she knows where I live. She’ll come here, I know she will.” Suddenly he drew himself up, in another spasm of fear. “See that the door is locked in the front, and the windows--see to them!” cried he, with a burst of energy. “All right,” said Bram. “I’ll see to that. You stay here with her,” and he indicated Claire with a movement of the head. But Mr. Biron shrank into himself, and tried to follow Bram out. “I’m afraid of her! She’s gone mad; I know she has,” whispered he. “Haven’t you heard what she did to-night--down at the works?” And Theodore, whose face had in a moment gone ashy white, all but the inflamed patch on the left side, which had become a livid blue, crept closer still to Bram. But the young man’s face as he again looked towards the unconscious girl wore nothing but infinite pity, infinite tenderness. “You’re right, Mr. Biron. The poor child is mad, I believe,” he said gravely. “And, thank God, she hasn’t come to herself yet. One could almost wish,” he added, more to himself than to his companion, “that she never may.” Mr. Biron shuddered. “Do you mean that she is ill?” he asked querulously. “Yes, she’s very ill--delirious.”