“No, a doctor, Jack—she needed one; she didn’t need a coroner.” “Ha!” The man started wildly to his feet as the hoarse cry burst from him; then he sank back again, pressing his hands hard against his temples and staring about him in a half-dazed way, as if he had not comprehended what he had heard. “Master Geoffrey, don’t—don’t tell me no more,” he pleaded, in an agonized tone. “I can’t bear it; they didn’t need any doctor to tell them that she was dead—just tell me where to find her grave. I’ll go and take one look at it; then I’ll make tracks again for Australia; I can’t stop here.” The man’s tone was so despairing, his attitude so hopeless, and his words so heart-broken, that Geoffrey had hard work to preserve his own composure. “But, Jack, there—there isn’t any grave,” he said at last. Jack lifted another vacant look to the young man’s face. “No grave! no coroner! a doctor!” he muttered, then suddenly he seemed to comprehend, and was galvanized into life. He sprang up; he seized Geoffrey by the shoulder. “Boy! boy!” he cried, in a strained, unnatural voice, “ye can’t mean it! ye can’t mean that she didn’t die! that—that I didn’t kill her after all! Tell me—tell me quick! if ye’ve brought me such blessed truth as that, I’m yer slave as long as I live.” He was terribly agitated. He shook as if he had suddenly been attacked with violent ague, and Geoffrey could see his broad chest rise and fall with the heavy throbbing of his startled heart. “Sit down, Jack,” he commanded, rising and putting him back into his chair; “you must be more calm, or I cannot tell you anything. Margery was not dead, but she was dreadfully hurt, and was ill for a long time, so ill that for more than a month they thought every day that she must die.” “And—she—didn’t——” The words were almost inarticulate, but Geoffrey understood him by the motion of his lips. “Don’t tell me,” he continued, catching his breath in a spasmodic way, a look of horror in his eyes, “don’t tell me that she lived to be—like as you was.” “No, no, Jack, she got well,” Geoffrey replied, but his own voice shook over the words. “O-h! my girl!” Jack Henly slipped from his chair, falling upon his knees beside his companion, while his head dropped a dead weight against his arm. “Look here, my man,” Geoffrey now said, with gruff kindness, though he was nearly unmanned himself, “this isn’t going to do at all. You must brace up, for there is a long story to be told yet.” He lifted him to his feet by main force, drew his arm within his own, and compelled him to walk up and down the porch two or three times. Then he seated him again, and began at once to tell poor Margery’s story. The man listened as if spell-bound; he scarcely seemed to breathe, so intent was he to catch every word. He did not move, even, until Geoffrey mentioned meeting the strange woman in the wood, when he looked up, a wild gleam in his eye, a cry of joy on his lips.