The men saw he meant it; they saw the closed door, and my uncle with his back to it. They turned and spoke to each other. The coachman sat immovable on his box. They mounted, and he drove away. I ran and opened the door. My uncle came in with a smile. He went up the stair, and I followed him to the room where the invalid lay. We were both anxious to learn if he had been disturbed. He was leaning on his elbow, listening. He looked a good deal more like himself. “I knew you would defend me, sir!” he said, with a respectful confidence which could not but please my uncle. “You did not want to go home--did you?” he asked with a smile. “I should have thrown myself out of the carriage!” answered John; “--that is, if they had got me into it. But, please, tell me, sir,” he went on, “how it is I find myself in your house? I have been puzzling over it all the morning. I have no recollection of coming.” “You understand, I fancy,” rejoined my uncle, “that one of the family has a notion she can take better care of you than anybody else! Is not that enough to account for it?” “Hardly, sir. Belorba cannot have gone and rescued me from my mother!” “How do you know that? Belorba is a terrible creature when she is roused. But you have talked enough. Shut your eyes, and don't trouble yourself to recollect. As you get stronger, it will all come back to you. Then you will be able to tell us, instead of asking us to tell you.” He left us together. I quieted John by reading to him, and absolutely declining to talk. “You are a captive. The castle is enchanted: speak a single word,” I said, “and you will find yourself in the dungeon of your own room.” He looked at me an instant, closed his eyes, and in a few minutes was fast asleep. He slept for two hours, and when he woke was quite himself. He was very weak, but the fever was gone, and we had now only to feed him up, and keep him quiet. CHAPTER XXII. JOHN RECALLS AND REMEMBERS.