The gossoon who had been sent with the despatch to the King of the Black Islands did not return this day--disappointment upon disappointment. Moriarty, who had exerted himself too much, that he might appear better than he really was, suffered proportionably this night; and so did Ormond, who, never before having been with any person delirious from fever, was excessively alarmed. What he endured cannot be described: it was, however, happy for him that he was forced to bear it all--nothing less could have made a sufficient impression on his mind--nothing less could have been a sufficient warning to set a guard upon the violence of his temper. In the morning the fever abated: about eight o’clock the patient sunk into a sound sleep; and Ormond, kneeling by his bedside, ardent in devotion as in all his sentiments, gave thanks to Heaven, prayed for Moriarty’s perfect recovery, and vowed with the strongest adjurations that if he might be spared for this offence, if he might be saved from the horror of being a murderer, no passion, no provocation should ever, during the whole future course of his life, tempt him to lift his hand against a fellow-creature. As he rose from his knees, after making this prayer and this vow, he was surprised to see standing beside him Lady Annaly--she had made a sign to the sick man not to interrupt Ormond’s devotion by any exclamation at her entrance. “Be not disturbed--let me not feel that I embarrass you, Mr. Ormond,” said she: “I came here not to intrude upon your privacy. Be not ashamed, young gentleman,” continued she, “that I should have witnessed feelings that do you honour, and that interest me in your future fate.” “Interest Lady Annaly in my future fate!--Is it possible!” exclaimed Ormond: “Is it possible that one of whom I stood so much in awe--one whom I thought so much too good, ever to bestow a thought on--such a one as I am--as I was, even before this fatal--” (his voice failed). “Not fatal, I hope--I trust,” said Lady Annaly: “this poor man’s looks at this moment assure me that he is likely to do well.” “True for ye, my lady,” said Moriarty, “I’ll do my best, surely: I’d live through all, if possible, for his sake, let alone my mudther’s, or shister’s, or my own--‘twould be too bad, after; all the trouble he got these two nights, to be dying at last, I and _hanting_ him, may be, whether I would or no--for as to prosecuting, that would never be any way, if I died twenty times over. I sint off that word to my mudthier and shister, with my curse if they’d do _other_--and only that they were at the fair, and did not get the word, or the news of my little accident, they’d have been here long ago; and the minute they come, I’ll swear ‘em not to prosecute, or harbour a thought of revenge again’ him, who had no malice again’ me, no more than a child. And at another’s bidding, more than his own, he drew the trigger, and the pistol went off unknownst, in a passion: so there’s the case for you, my lady.”