“Francesco--Francesco!” screamed out Layton, wildly, “take this man away; he has no right to be here. I 'll not endure it. Leave me--go-- leave me!” screamed he, angrily. There was that peculiar something about the look of Quackinboss that assured Francesco it would be as well not to meddle with him; and, like all his countrymen, he was quick to read an expression and profit by his knowledge. Even to the sick man, too, did the influence extend, and the determinate, purpose-like tone of his manner enforced obedience without even an effort. “I was mystery-man for three years among the Choctaws,” said he, as he bound up Layton's arm, “and I 'll yield to no one livin' how to treat a swamp fever, and that's exactly what you 've got.” While the blood trickled from the open vein he continued to talk on in the same strain. “I 've seen a red man anoint hisself all over with oil, and set fire to it, and then another stood by with a great blanket to wrap him up afore he was more than singed, and it always succeeded in stoppin' the fever. It brought it out to the surface like. Howsomever, it's only an Indian's fixin', and I don't like it with a white man. How d' ye feel now,-- better?” A muttering, dissatisfied sound, but half articulate, seemed to say, “No better.” “It ain't to be expected yet,” said Quackinboss. “Lie down, and be quiet a bit.” Although the first effect of the bleeding seemed to calm the sufferer and arrest his fever, the symptoms of the malady came back in full force afterwards, and, ere day broke, he was raving wildly. At one moment he fancied he was at work in the laboratory with his father, and he ran over great calculations of mental arithmetic with a marvellous volubility; then he was back in his chambers at Trinity, but he could not find his books; they were gone--lost--no, not lost, he suddenly remembered that he had sold them--sold them to send a pittance to his poor sick mother. “It's a sad story, every part of it,” whispered he in Quackinboss's ear, while he clutched him closely with his hands. “It was a great man was lost, mark you; and in a great shipwreck even the fragments of the wreck work sad destruction, and, of course, none will say a word for him. But remember, sir, I am his son, and will not hear a syllable against him, from you nor any other.” From this he abruptly broke off to speak of O'Shea, and his late altercation with him. “I waited at home all the morning for him, and at last got a note to say that he had forgotten to tell me of an appointment he had made to ride out with Miss Leslie, but he 'll be punctual to the hour to-morrow. So it's better as it is, Colonel, for you 'll be here, and can act as my friend,--won't you? Your countrymen understand all these sort of things so well. And then, if I be called away suddenly to England, don't tell them,” whispered he, mysteriously,--“don't tell them at the villa whither I 've gone. They know nothing of me nor of my family; never