“Now that I begin to consider the matter in this light,” said Crowther, “it is curious what an explanation it affords to many things that used to puzzle me formerly: all that coldness and reserve towards Carew that his neighbors showed; the way his former acquaintances fell off from him, one by one; and, lastly, those strange hints about him in the newspapers. I suppose we should see the meaning of every one of them now easily enough?” Fagan made no reply; his mind was travelling along over the road it had entered upon, and would not be turned away by any call whatsoever. “Yes,” muttered he to himself, “the little cottage at Fallrach, in the Killeries,--that's the place! and the only thing now is to get him down there. I must go up and see how he gets on, Crowther. I 'm half afraid that he ought to see a surgeon.” And, so saying, he arose and left the room. My father was still sleeping as he entered, but less tranquilly than before, with a feverish flush upon his face, and his lips dry and dark-colored. With a noiseless hand, Fagan drew back the curtain, and, seating himself close to the bed, bent down to gaze on him. The uneasy motions of the sleeper denoted pain; and more than once his hand was pressed against his side, as if it was the seat of some suffering. Fagan watched every gesture eagerly, and tried, but in vain, to collect some meaning from the low and broken utterance. Rapidly speaking at intervals, and at times moaning painfully, he appeared to labor either under some mental or bodily agony, in a paroxysm of which, at last, he burst open his vest, and clutched his embroidered shirt-frill with a violence that tore it in fragments. As he did so, Fagan caught sight of a handkerchief stained with blood, which, with cautious gesture, he slowly removed, and, walking to the window, examined it carefully. This done, he folded it up, and, enveloping it in his own, placed it in his pocket. Once more he took his place at the bedside, and seemed to listen with intense anxiety for every sound of the sleeper's lips. The fever appeared to gain ground, for the flush now covered the face and forehead, and the limbs were twitched with short convulsive motions. At last, as the paroxysm had reached its height, he bounded up from the bed and awoke. “Where am I?” cried he, wildly. “Who are all these? What do they allege against me?” “Lie down; compose yourself, Mr. Carew. You are amongst friends, who wish you well, and will treat you kindly,” said Fagan, mildly. “But it was not of my seeking,--no one can dare to say so. Fagan will be my back to any amount,--ten thousand, if they ask it.” “That will I,--to the last penny I possess.” “There, I told you so. I often said I knew the Grinder better than any of you. You laughed at me for it; but I was right, for all that.” “I trust you were right, sir,” said Fagan, calmly.