But Mr. Fogo was not to try again on the morrow. For Caleb, stealing up in the grey dawn to assure himself that his master was comfortably asleep, found him tossing in a high fever, and rowed down to Troy for dear life and the Doctor. Returning, he found that the fever had become delirium. Mr. Fogo, indeed, was sitting up in bed, and rattling off proposals of marriage at the rate of some six a minute, without break or pause. He was very red and earnest, rolled his eyes most strangely, and wandered in his address from Tamsin to Geraldine, and back again with a vehemence that gravelled all logic. "Lord ha' mussy!" cried Caleb at last. "Do 'ee hush, that's a dear. 'Tes sinful--all these gallons o' true affecshun a-runnin' to waste. You'm too lovin' by half, as Sam said when hes wife got hugged by a bear. What do 'ee think, sir?" The last sentence was addressed to the little Doctor, who, after staring at the patient for some minutes without noticeable result, nodded his head, announced that the fever must run its course, and promised to send a capable nurse up to Kit's House without delay. "Beggin' your pard'n, Doctor," interposed Caleb with firmness, "but I've a-got my orders." "Eh?" "I've a-got my orders. Plaise God, an' wi' plenty o' doctor's trade, [1] us'll pull 'un round: but nobody nusses maaster 'ceptin' you an' me--leastways, no womankind." "This is nonsensical." "Nonsensical, do 'ee say? Look 'ee here, Doctor; do 'ee think I'd trust a woman up here wi' maaster a-makin' offers o' marriage sixteen to the dozen? Why, bless 'ee, sir, her'd be down an' ha' the banns called afore night, an' maaster not fit to shake hes head, much less say as the Prayer Books orders--'I renounce mun all.' That's a woman, Doctor, an' ef any o' the genteel sex sets foot on Kit's beach I'll--I'll _stone_ her." The Doctor gave way in the end and withdrew, promising another visit before evening. When he returned, however, at five in the afternoon, he found, with some wonder, a woman quietly installed in the sick-room. It happened thus:-- Barely an hour after the Doctor's departure, Caleb, sitting at his master's bedside, heard footsteps on the gravel walk, and looked out of window. "Hist!" he called softly; and Peter Dearlove, followed by Paul, stepped round the angle of the house into sight. The Twins bore a look of the gravest perplexity and a large market basket. "Hulloa!" said Caleb, "what's up?" The pair looked at each other. At length Peter began with a serious face and unwonted formality of tone-- "Es Mr. Fogo wi'in?" "Why, iss," Caleb allowed, "he's inside." "We was a-wishin' to request o' the pleasure"--here Peter looked at Paul, who nodded--"the pleasure o' an interval o' five minnits." "Interview," corrected Paul. "I misdoubts," answered his brother, "that you are wrong, Paul. I remember the expresshun 'pon the programme o' a Sleight o' Hand Entertainment, an' there et said 'Interval'--'An Interval o' Five Minnits.'"