“I fear we shall lose our imbecile pupil up-stairs, Ag. I brought a doctor in to see him last night, and he says he cannot live long.” I could not see his face, for he looked persistently away. “If he is ill, I must see him, Richard,” I managed to reply. “Oh, no!” said he; “I thought you were foolishly scared to hear him groan yesterday, but if he does not get better I will send him home to his friends.” This he said carelessly, as he walked out of the room humming a lively air. How coolly he talks about the lad! thought I, half ashamed of my suspicions. Perhaps I have wronged him. I have been too impetuous in my surmises. CHAPTER XVIII. The time drew near for his brother’s arrival. He was prompt to the hour. “Well, Agnes,” said he, “I have passed a sleepless night. I hope you will relieve my mind of its anxiety.” “Mr. Bristed,” said I, covering my eyes with my hand, for I could not endure his eager gaze, “I must first tell you I am married to your brother Richard.” “Married to Richard!” he exclaimed, starting up violently agitated; and seizing my shoulder with nervous gripe he set me off from him at arm’s length--“You married to Richard! why, Agnes, that cannot be; has he not a wife now living in France? But be calm, child,” said he, “be calm,” patting me gently on the head; “perhaps I am misinformed; we will talk of this hereafter. Now about Herbert. Tell me what you know.” This question recalled me. I then informed him of the idiotic pupil who had been received in the house about a fortnight since, and how my suspicions as to his identity had been aroused the day previous. He could scarcely wait till I had finished my account. “Come, quick! come! show me the way to the room!” I led him up the stairs in the direction of the suspected chamber. As we neared the door a low moan could be heard distinctly. “O my God, it is Herbert!” he exclaimed. “Quick, where is the key?” “I have no key--you must pry the lock open.” No sooner said than done--he burst open the door and entered. I followed. Alas! our surmises proved too true! There upon the couch lay the wasted form of poor Herbert. As he recognized us his wan face lighted up with an angelic smile, and he endeavored to raise himself at our coming, but he was too weak, and his head sank nerveless back upon the pillow. Silently and hushed, as in the chamber of death, we stepped to his bedside. He held out his thin hand to his uncle, who clasped it between his own, and, kneeling by his couch, bowed his head and sobbed aloud. His first moments of bitter grief subsiding, he said to me, “Send for some wine.” Then, stroking the child’s fair forehead, he groaned, “O Herbert, Herbert, have I found you at last, sick and alone!” Herbert attempted to reply, but his voice was weak and faint; we could not distinguish his words. A servant brought the wine, and I moistened his colorless lips with it. How I felt, it is useless to describe. Words would fail to express my terror.