‘With utmost deference, Sir, would it not be possible for you, ere you go, to convey hither to me a moderate store of food and drink, and, having so satisfied your hospitable conscience, dismiss from your mind all question of further responsibility regarding my welfare? Then, if at last forced by my condition to reveal myself, I could make shift to emerge from this confinement, if only to beg of your people a corner in which to die?’ The young man stood fairly astounded before this cool proposition. ‘_No_, Master Melton,’ said he, with emphasis: ‘it would not be possible. If the worst were to come upon you--you force me to speak plain--you would be in no state to make the effort you imply: in which case--but I leave to your imagination the pleasant sequel. Come, prepare yourself to shift. You shall be conveyed to a comfortable bed, and your hurts tended by one of a better skill and knowledge than ever I could pretend to. The household is pledged to secrecy: in the matter of risk, I believe on my soul there is no shadow of any--you are long forgotten by the very men who chased you. And the moment you are fit to travel you shall be free to go. Come.’ The fugitive uttered a little sigh. ‘I yield all,’ said he, ‘to him to whom I owe all.’ He crawled painfully from under the cloth which covered him, and which he fumbled back into the wall-corner where he had lain; and, supported by Brion, laboriously climbed the steps into the chamber above. ‘Are you not going to close the wheel?’ said he, panting and pallid, as they paused a moment, after emerging from the aperture. ‘Presently will serve,’ answered Brion: ‘when I have seen you into safety.’ ‘Now, Sir, now, let me entreat you! If any accident should happen--if it should be overlooked--a clue----’ ‘Peace, then!’ exclaimed the young man; and he hurriedly and rather pettishly did as he was asked. Truly this most unconscionable invalid was a trial to one’s patience. Outside the ilex clump, Clerivault, white and grim, stood waiting in the thunderous dusk. He had volunteered to dare the terrors of the awful place; but Brion, seeing what the offer cost him, had laughingly declined his company, saying he could manage much better by himself. They took the stranger between them, and, without more ado, carried rather than supported him to the house, and, smuggling him by a back way to the upper chamber, remotest from Quentin Bagott’s quarters, which had been prepared for him, put him to bed, and left him in the hands of that old wintry bird of prey, Mother Harlock, who forthwith proceeded to examine his hurts with the dark relish peculiar to her kind. Coming to seek Brion presently, she gave him, in a muttered whisper, the result of her diagnosis:-- ‘The man’s sore smitten.’ ‘Will he die?’ ‘A hath a dog’s chance--given my vuln’ry water. ’Twere distilled from the plantain in the year of its becoming a bird.’ ‘Of what becoming a bird? The plantain? Does the plantain become a bird?’