Considerably astonished, thinking perhaps Ann Canham had a litter of puppies to show him--for, if Jim had a weakness for anything on earth, it was for those charming specimens of the animal world--he made his way through the gate. Ann had no puppies; nothing but a small note in her hand wafered and pressed with a thimble. "Is the master anywhere about, Jim?" "He's just gone into the barn now. The men be thrashing." Ann paused a moment. Jim stared at her. "Could you just do me a service, Jim?" Jim, good-natured at all times, replied that he supposed he could if he tried. But he stared, still puzzled by this extraordinary behaviour on the part of quiet Ann Canham. "I want this bit of a letter given to him," she said, pointing to what she held. "I want it given to him when he's by himself, so that it don't get seen. Could you manage it, Jim?" "I dare say I could," replied Jim. "What is the letter? What's inside it?" "It concerns Mr. Ryle," said Ann, after a perceptible hesitation. "Jim, if you'll do this faithful, I won't forget it. Watch your opportunity; and keep the letter inside your smock-frock, for fear anybody should see it." "I'll do it," said Jim. He took the note from her, put it in his trousers pocket, and went back towards the barn whistling. Ann turned homewards, flying over the ground as if she were running a race. Jim had not to wait for an opportunity. He met his master coming out of the barn. The doorway was dark; the thrashing men were at the upper end of the barn, and no eyes were near. Jim could not help some of the mystery which had appeared in Ann Canham's manner extending to his own. "What's this?" asked George. "Ann Canham brought it, sir. She was hiding t'other side the hedge and called to me, and telled me to be sure give it when nobody was by." George took the missive to the door and looked at it. A piece of white paper, which had apparently served to wrap up tea or something of that sort, awkwardly folded and wafered. No direction. He opened it; and saw a few words in a sprawling hand: "Don't betray me, George. Come to me in secret as soon as you can. I think I am dying." And in spite of its being without signature; in spite of the scrawled characters, and blotted words, George Ryle recognised the handwriting of Rupert Trevlyn. CHAPTER XLVII SURPRISE On the hard flock bed in the upper back room at the lodge, he lay. As George Ryle stood there bending over him, he could have touched each of the surrounding walls. The remark of Jim Sanders that Ann Canham had brought the note, guided George naturally to the lodge; otherwise he would not have known where to look for him. One single question to old Canham as he entered--"Is he here?"--and George bounded up the stairs. Ann Canham, who was standing over the bed--her head just escaping the low ceiling--turned to George: trouble and pain on her countenance as she spoke. "He is in delirium now, sir. I was afeared he would be."