He walked for about a mile, through a district that had been burnt, and then came to the seashore again. Here the trees were green, and there were no signs of fire. There was a cool and refreshing breeze now from off the sea, and the hope of finding a house stimulated him to such a degree that he maintained a rapid walk for at least another mile. And now, as he ascended a slight elevation, he saw a figure, on the road before him, advancing towards him. It was a boy that he saw. He was walking wearily, and seemed both tired and dejected. He was looking at the ground. Phil hurried towards him. The boy did not notice him till he had come quite close. Then he looked up. As Phil saw that face, he stood for a moment speechless with amazement and delight. It was Pat! “Pat!” he cried. “Pat!” He could say no more. Tears of joy started to his eyes. He grasped Pat’s hand in his, and looked at him, completely overcome. He was too deeply agitated to notice Pat’s face or manner, but stood overcome by his own emotions. “So you’ve been after me,” said Phil. “Where are the rest of them? Where’s Bart? How did you get here? What place is this? Only think of my getting out here--and only a few minutes ago--and then meeting with you! But where are the others? Come, I’m crazy to see Bart. I declare I never was so utterly confounded in my life! But what’s the matter with you?” In the midst of Phil’s eager torrent of exclamations and questions, he was struck by something very peculiar in Pat’s face, and in Pat’s manner, and ended all with this abrupt question. In fact, Pat’s appearance was very peculiar. His face was pale, and had an anxious expression. His eyes, generally so merry, and open, and frank, were now furtive and suspicious; and instead of showing any pleasure at the sight of Phil, he started back, and snatched his hand away. At Phil’s question Pat gave a very heavy sigh, and made no answer. “Pat, Pat, what is the matter?” cried Phil again. “Has anything happened? Where’s Bart? What is the matter?” “Matther,” muttered Pat. “Matther enough, surely, as ye’ll know to yer sorra.” At this Phil stared at him in amazement. Pat was so totally changed from his former self, that he couldn’t comprehend it at all. “Come, Pat,” said he, “don’t keep me in suspense. I see by your manner that some horrible thing has happened to some of you. Which is it? Is it Bart?” Pat shook his head. “It’s me,” said he, in a dismal voice. “Me. I’m the one.” “You! Why, what do you mean?” “I’m a leper!” wailed Pat. “You, what? You’re what? What are you talking about?” “You’ll know soon enough. An maybe ye’ll find out from shakin my hand the way ye did jist now.” “Shaking your hand!” “Yis,” said Pat. “Ayven the touch of me’s on-whowlsome, so it is. An I’ve got that on me that’s goin to be the death of me afore long, so it is.” “See here, Pat,” cried Phil, anxiously. “Tell me what’s the matter, like a good fellow. You make me horribly anxious. What do you mean?”