Ralph shifted his position a little, and looking round, saw a man bending over him with a curiously attractive face, chestnut-brown hair fast turning white, large, well-shaped, blue-grey eyes, and that mobile type of mouth which specially belongs to the actor. He had a strange impression of having lived through this scene before, and in a moment there flashed back into his mind a recollection of his first day at Sir Matthew’s house, of his adventure in the park, and of how Macneillie had pulled him out of the water. “Oh, is it you?” he cried, with a relief that could hardly have been greater had he met an old friend. Macneillie in vain racked his memory: he could not in the least recall the face. However, he was not going to betray this. “Glad I came across you,” he said. “I often come down here by the river to study a part, this path is little frequented till the tourist season begins. Let me see, where did we last meet?” “You will hardly remember it,” said Ralph; “it was at Richmond. I was quite a small boy and ran up to thank you for having pulled me out of the water a few weeks before in St. James’ Park. You gave me your knife.” A look of keen and sudden interest flashed over Macneillie’s face. “Of course!” he exclaimed; “I remember it all perfectly. I’m very glad to have come across you again. What is the matter now? You look very ill. Are you taking a walking tour?” Ralph smiled. “I set out from Forres last Wednesday morning with sixpence in my pocket,” he said. “It has been a roughish time.” “I should think so, indeed,” said Macneillie, glancing from the slightly-built figure to the thin, finely-shaped hands, and realising in a moment how little fitted this lad was to endure hardships. “From Forres you say? What was it I was hearing a day or two ago about Forres? Oh, to be sure, Skoot’s Company came to grief there.” “Yes, I was in the company,” said Ralph. “Skoot left us in the lurch, and it was a sort of _sauve qui peut_.” “So you belong to the profession,” said Macneillie. “That gives you another claim upon me. Perhaps you are the very Mr. Denmead that Miss Kay mentioned in her letter.” “Yes, I am Ralph Denmead. Miss Kay promised she would inquire if you had any opening for me.” “We’ll see about that, but in the meantime, if I’m not much mistaken, the influenza fiend means to work his will on you. By the look of you I should say that you were in a high fever.” “I don’t know what is the matter with me,” said Ralph, miserably. “I suppose I fainted just now in the road. I know that a priest and a levite looked at me, said I was drunk, and passed by on the other side.” “Trust them to leap to the worst conclusions,” said Macneillie. “It’s the way of the world. But come, I must somehow contrive to get you to my house.” Ill and exhausted, Ralph for the life of him could not keep the tears out of his eyes.