—But oh! I did not soon get well. For I wot not what had come over me, ... none of us ever could rightly tell, ... whether the sudden Chill after being so hot, or the Plunge from so great an Height, or the Turn of my Blood with Fright at seeing _Anne_ fall in, ... but as soon as ever I essayed to arise and dress, my Master and _Tomkins_ being by, I began tumbling about and could neither hear nor see; leastwise Nothing that was really to be seen and heard. And with such fearsome Pains in my Head! So hot, and yet so cold! Such Thirst, and such loathing of Food! In short, I was sick nigh to Death of what the Leeches call Brain Fever. Thereon the Kindness I received is past all telling. Mistress _Fraunces_ seemed never out of Sight. Also _Tib_ was very handy and officious, never minding climbing ever so many Stairs. And _Miles_ did the odd Work for all, spake under his Voice, and went about without his Shoes. At dead o' Night, I sometimes saw my Master at the Bed-foot, reading his _Tyndal's_ Testament, (one o' the few that scaped burning,) with the Lamp shaded so as not to shine into mine Eyes. At other Times, _Tomkins_. But his Book was never the Testament. One Night, when the latter was with me alone, I said suddenly, "_Tomkins_! the Night is far spent, the Day is at Hand!" ... "No, Lad," quod he, "it wants many Hours yet to Day. It hath but just struck eleven." "Ah, but," quod I, "those Words I used are Scripture, I think, for I heard Master _Hewet_, as he sate a-reading, whisper them over to himself. Do look out for them, will you, that I may know I was not dreaming. They worry me." _Tomkins_ did not much like the Talk; howbeit, he laid down his own Book, and turned over the other. "I don't see them," quod he. "How _can_ you, in the Dark?" quod I. "I'm not in the Dark!" quod he. "Well then," quod I, turning on my Pillow restlessly, "I suppose _I_ am. I thought you had been, but peradventure I'm wandering again." After long Silence, he sayth, in a Voice hushed, and quite altered, "I have them now ... they are close to your Master's Mark." And continued reading. After a While, I saw him turn back again to his Starting-point, and sit in a Muze, with his Eyes fixed; and after that, read again. I said softly to him, presently, "_Tomkins_, where do you go on Sundays?" "Who spoke?" cried he with a Start. "_I_ did," quod I. "Who else _should_ speak?" "Thy Voice sounded so low and sweet, Boy," quod he, recovering himself, "that I wist not it was thine." "Well, but," persisted I, "where _do_ you go on Sundays?" "Not to Church," answered he, after a Pause. "But why not, _Tomkins_? Hast thou not a Soul to be saved, as much as we?" "As much, no more," returned he, "if we _have_ any Souls." "Oh!" cried I, half starting up, but obliged to fall back again directly, "could a Man without a Soul _make a Watch_?" "Well," quod he, after a Pause, "there you pose me. But all, all is dark."