He thought that he understood what Percival wanted to say to him. Of course, since Dino had disclosed the truth, Elizabeth Murray desired to give up the property, and her lover had volunteered to come in search of the missing man. It was a generous act, and one that Brian thoroughly admired: it was worthy, he thought, of Elizabeth's lover. For he knew that he had always been especially obnoxious to Percival Heron in his capacity as tutor; and now, if he were to assume the character of a claimant to Elizabeth's estates, he would certainly not find the road to Percival's liking. For his own part, Brian respected and liked Percival Heron much more than he had found it possible to do during those flying visits to Italy, when he had systematically made himself disagreeable to the unknown Mr. Stretton. He admired the way in which Percival assumed the leadership of the party, and bore the burden of all their difficulties on his own broad shoulders: he admired his cheerfulness and untiring energy. He was sure that if Heron could succeed in carrying him off to England, and forcing him to make Elizabeth a poor woman instead of a rich one, he would be only too pleased to do so. But this was a thing which Brian did not mean to allow. Jackson's illness was a protracted one, and left him in a weak state, from which he had not recovered when Pollard died. Then the boy Barry fell ill--out of sheer fright, Percival declared; but his attack was a very slight one, prolonged from want of energy rather than real indisposition. Heron was the only nurse, for Fenwick's strength had to be utilised in procuring food for the party; and, as he was often up all night and busy all day long, it was no surprise to Brian when at last he staggered, rather than walked into the hut, and threw himself down on the ground, declaring himself so tired that he could not keep awake. And he had scarcely said the words when slumber overpowered him. Brian, who was beginning to move about a very little, crawled to the door and managed to attract Fenwick's attention. The man--a rough, black-bearded sailor--came up to him with a less surly look than usual. "How's Barry?" said Brian. "Better. He's all right. They've both got round the corner now, though I think the master thought yesterday that Barry would follow Pollard. It was faint-heartedness as killed Pollard, and it's faint-heartedness that'll kill Barry, if he don't look out." "See here," said Brian, indicating the sleeper with his finger. "You don't think Mr. Heron has got the fever, do you?" Fenwick took a step forward and looked stolidly at Percival's face, which was very pale. "Not he. Dead-beat, sir; that's all. He's done his work like a man, and earned a sleep. He'll be right when he wakes."