“Thank you,” he said. “It's very kind of you. I--I am--in great trouble.” Little Ann went to him and smiled her motherly smile at him. “You're very wet,” she said. “You'll take a bad cold if you're not careful. Mrs. Bowse thinks you ought to go right to bed and have something hot to drink.” “It seems a long time since I was in bed,” he answered her. “I'm very tired. Thank you.” He drew a weary, sighing breath, but he didn't move his eyes from the girl's face. Perhaps the cessation of action in certain cells of his brain had increased action in others. He looked as though he were seeing something in Little Ann's face which might not have revealed itself so clearly to the more normal gaze. He moved slightly nearer to her. He was a tall man, and had to look down at her. “What is your name?” he asked anxiously. “Names trouble me.” It was Ann who drew a little nearer to him now. She had to look up, and the soft, absorbed kindness in her eyes might, Tembarom thought, have soothed a raging lion, it was so intent on its purpose. “My name is Ann Hutchinson; but never you mind about it now,” she said. “I'll tell it to you again. Let Mr. Tembarom take you up-stairs to bed. You'll be better in the morning.” And because his hollow eyes rested on her so fixedly she put her hand on his wet sleeve. “You're wet through,” she said. “That won't do.” He looked down at her hand and then at her face again. “Help me,” he pleaded, “just help me. I don't know what's happened. Have I gone mad?” “No,” she answered; “not a bit. It'll all come right after a while; you'll see.” “Will it, will it?” he begged, and then suddenly his eyes were full of tears. It was a strange thing to see him in his bewildered misery try to pull himself together, and bite his shaking lips as though he vaguely remembered that he was a man. “I beg pardon,” he faltered: “I suppose I'm ill.” “I don't know where to put him,” Mrs. Bowse was saying half aside; “I've not got a room empty.” “Put him in my bed and give me a shake-down on the floor,” said Tembarom. “That'll be all right. He doesn't want me to leave him, anyhow.” He turned to the money on the table. “Say,” he said to his guest, “there's two thousand five hundred dollars here. We've counted it to make sure. That's quite some money. And it's yours--” The stranger looked disturbed and made a nervous gesture. “Don't, don't!” he broke in. “Keep it. Some one took the rest. This was hidden. It will pay.” “You see he isn't real' out of his mind,” Mrs. Bowse murmured feelingly. “No, not real' out of it,” said Tembarom. “Say,”--as an inspiration occurred to him,--“I guess maybe Miss Hutchinson will keep it. Will you, Little Ann? You can give it to him when he wants it.”