As he read the simple words--very simple they were, and childish, but each one carrying with it a proof of the writer’s innocence and truth--the light of hope dawned once more on poor John’s darkened brain, and big tears of gratitude broke from his wearied eyes. Surprised, worn out both physically and mentally, for he had been more than thirty hours without rest or food, he could at first scarcely bring himself to understand the relief which, nevertheless, he felt was a great and blessed one. Laying his head down on his folded arms, with one short but fervent ejaculation of thankfulness hovering on his parched lips, the man whose iron frame had hitherto seemed almost impervious to fatigue, and proof against the ordinary ills that flesh is heir to, grew gradually insensible to outer things, losing all sense whether of joy or sorrow, in the heavy and lethargic slumber which is too often the precursor of serious illness. Once and again, treading softly and on tiptoe, the old woman, anxious and miserable, stole to the side of the motionless figure, wondering at this unnatural quiet. But Hannah bade her not to worry herself. “It’s just nothing but being fairly worn out,” she said, “and who’s to wonder, I should like to know?” she went on defiantly. “A man, if he’s as strong as Samson, can’t abear being worritted for ever. Any way,” the worthy creature said to herself, “I’m glad I kept the letter, maybe missus would have nobbled it; so she might. There’s never no knowing what some folks is up to;” and Hannah chuckled inwardly, as she set the tea-things in preparation for the master’s waking. But neither on that occasion, nor for many a day afterwards, did “the master,” who was so beloved by all who knew him, join in the daily meals, the regular partaking of which those who lead a simple life in farmhouses are wont to consider as absolutely necessary for the sustainment of the vital principle existing within the human frame. John awoke from the death-like slumber into which he had fallen with shivering limbs and an aching head; symptoms which even Mrs. Beacham’s limited experience told her denoted the commencement of a violent fever; and such in fact it proved. For many days John’s life was in serious danger; in such danger that the country folk, coming from miles around to learn news of his condition, lingered about for hours near the door, expecting--fearing to hear the worst. In such danger, that the poor old woman, his mother, knew no rest either by night or day, for at the pillow on which the fevered head lay tossing restlessly, she listened remorsefully to his delirious ravings, ravings in which were mingled in strange confusion the names of his lost Honor and of Arthur’s “murdered” wife. CHAPTER XXIII. HONOR RECEIVES A LETTER.