No matter whether he felt hot or cold now, this day had done him one invaluable service. It had cured him of any romantic feeling he had had for that strangely beautiful woman. Now all that had happened in that room where the inquest had been held came back vividly to him. Murder had been done, and there could be no doubt in the mind of any reasonable man that Blake had done the awful deed, and that she---- No, no; he mustn't think that even now. It was plain, at all events, that Blake had once been loved by her, and there was nothing to show that she was now indifferent to Blake. Had she not supported his absurd theory respecting the death of the man who had been murdered? The heat was becoming bad again--worse than ever. His head was burning. It felt as though a cap of tight-fitting metal pressed upon it. The cold of a little time back was hard to endure, but it seemed a positive pleasure compared with this awful sensation of bursting at the temples. He must have relief some way, any way, no matter at what cost in the future. Off with the hat again. The rain did not cool so quickly or so effectually, but it afforded great alleviation. There was no positive sense of pleasure from it now--only a dulling, deadening of a feeling which was not exactly pain, but gave rise to a helpless, lethargic state of brain. His limbs were heavier than they had yet seemed, and he had great difficulty in persuading himself that the water which rose no higher than an inch on the road was not tenacious mud half a foot deep. Keep on thus for several hours! Impossible! One might as well expect to walk for the same time on red-hot ploughshares. Oh, he felt sick and weary beyond endurance! No light to be seen--nothing whatever visible. And along this road no succour was likely to come, while the rain poured down as though a second destruction of earth by water was at hand. What!--cold again so soon! Distracting! Maddening! Ah, this was fever--fever of some awful kind--and no help at hand. He could not keep on another hour. Bah!--not half-an-hour. Merciful heavens, what was this? Lights and the sounds of horses and the shouts of men! He felt himself knocked down. With a prodigious effort he staggered to his feet and cried out: "Help!--for heavens sake, help!" Succour had arrived at the last moment. CHAPTER XV. "I SHALL BE READY FOR MY DEATH WHEN THEY ARE READY FOR IT!" That evening, when Richard Pringle ascertained Alfred Paulton had left the "Wolfdog Inn," he came to the conclusion that he had hastened home with an account of the day's proceedings. He resolved to go and seek Mrs. Davenport at once. He had ordered a carriage to be in readiness to take her and him back to London. Since she had finished giving her evidence, she had remained in the private room upstairs. The rain was now falling heavily.