Tor was possessed of a strong nature and a strong will, yet, like most strong men, his manner was gentle and quiet. He was not so ready of speech as was Phil, though when roused to wrath he could be eloquent enough, and showed a fine command of language. Under his outward shell of easy-going carelessness lay a reckless ‘dare-devil’ nature, which at times broke out so strongly as almost to surprise himself, and often quite astonished others. At the present moment he looked quiet and gentle enough, sitting by Phil’s bedside, and from time to time changing the wet cloths upon his head. He was uneasy about his friend, for unconsciousness is an unpleasant symptom; and although the German doctor declared there was no danger, that there was nothing to be alarmed about, Tor was not altogether reassured. For the physician had warned him that many weeks might possibly elapse before the balance of the patient’s faculties was restored: he had had such cases under his care, he and his brother physicians; and Tor did not at all relish such a thought. It was uncanny to see Phil lying there, unable to speak, or even to recognise him. Tor frowned, and pulled at his moustache, and swore softly to himself in German. A knock at the door interrupted his musing-fit, and a packet of letters was handed in. They were all for Phil, and one was very large, and looked legal. For three years after his flight Phil had held no communication with his relatives, but during the past seven, he had corresponded regularly, though not frequently, with his sister Maud; and he had written to her on their arrival at Hornberg, some eight days since. From the number and bulk of the letters, it seemed as though some important communications had been waiting to be despatched as soon as an address was made known. Tor looked at the envelopes, and then at Phil’s prostrate figure and vacant face. ‘Strikes me I must look into this business. He can’t, poor old chap! I imagine I know as much of his affairs as he does himself—or more.’ So saying, Tor took up the bulky legal-looking packet and opened it without more ado. It contained several papers. The first of these was from the lawyer employed by Phil’s great-uncle, Mr. Maynard, and announced the death of that gentleman at the advanced age of eighty-four years. He had bequeathed his entire property to his great-nephew, Philip Debenham, and had appointed his lawyer and a man of whom Tor had never heard—a Mr. Meredith—as executors.