This was what Marie did for Jack Meredith, by coming into the room and bending over him and touching his cushions with a sort of deftness and savoir-faire. He did not define his feelings--he was too weak for that; but he had been conscious, for the first time in his life, of a distinct sense of fear when he read Maurice Gordon's letter. Of course he had thought of the possibility of death many times during the last five weeks; but he had no intention of dying. He set the fact plainly before himself that with care he might recover, but that at any moment some symptom could declare itself which would mean death. Both he and Joseph had, without making mention of it to each other, counted entirely on finding the Gordons at home. It was more than a disappointment--very much more for Jack Meredith. But in real life we do not analyse our feelings as do men in books--more especially books of the mawko-religious tenor written by ladies. Jack Meredith only knew that he felt suddenly afraid of dying when he read Maurice Gordon's letter, and that when the half-caste woman came into the room and gently asserted her claim, as it were, to supreme authority in this situation, the fear seemed to be allayed. Joseph, with something bright glistening in his keen, quick eyes, stood watching his face as if for a verdict. “You are tired,” she said, “after your long journey.” Then she turned to Joseph with that soft, natural way which seems to run through the negro blood, however much it may be diluted. “Help Mr. Meredith,” she said, “to Mr. Gordon's room. I will go at once and see that the bed is prepared.” CHAPTER XXVIII. A SLOW RECOVERY We dare not let our tears flow, lest, in truth, They fall upon our work which must be done. “They was just in time,” said Joseph pleasantly to Marie that same evening, when Jack Meredith had been made comfortable for the night, and there was time to spare for supper. “Ah!” replied the woman, who was busy with the supper-table. Joseph glanced at her keenly. The exclamation not only displayed a due interest, but contained many questions. He stretched out his legs and wagged his head sapiently. “And no mistake!” he said. “They timed it almost to the minute. We had sort of beaten them back for the time bein'. Mr. Meredith had woke up sudden, as I told you, and came into the thick of the melee, as we say in the service. Then we heard the firin' in the distance and the 'splat' of Mr. Oscard's Express rifle. I just turns, like this 'ere, my head over me shoulder, quite confidential, and I says, 'Good Lord, I thank yer.' I'm no hand at tracts and Bible-readin's, but I'm not such a blamed fool, Mistress Marie, as to think that this 'ere rum-go of a world made itself. No, not quite. So I just put in a word, quiet-like, to the Creator.” Marie was setting before him such luxuries as she could command. She nodded encouragingly. “Go on,” she said. “Tell me!”