It was not immediate death that had alighted, but death’s forerunner, paralysis. I realized this in a moment. The mute and stricken figure; the closed eyes; the darkly flushed face wrenched to the right and the flapping breath issuing one-sided from the lips--I needed no experience to read the meaning of these. I ran to the head of the stairs and shrieked to old Peggy to come up. Then I hurried to the dressing-table and lighted a candle that stood thereon. As I took it in my hand to approach the bed, a pane in the lattice behind me went with a splintering noise, and something whizzed past my head like a hornet, and a fragment of plaster spun from the wall near. At the same instant a little muffled sound, no louder in the tumult of hail than the smack of an elastic band on paper, came from the street outside. Instinctively I winced and dodged, not knowing for the moment what had happened, then in the midst of my distraction, fury seized me like a snake. The blind was up; my figure plainly visible from the bridge as I crossed the room. The madman outside had shot at me, whether from pure deviltry or because he took me for Jason I neither knew nor cared. Coming on the head of my trouble, the deed seemed wantonly diabolical. Had I been master of my actions I think I should then and there have rushed forth and grappled with the evil creature and crushed the life out of him. As it was I ran to the window and dashed it open and leaned forth. He was there on the bridge still; standing up in the pelting storm; bare-headed, fantastic--a thing of nameless expression. I shrieked to him and cursed him. I menaced him with my fists. For the moment I was near as much madman as he. Perhaps some words of my outcry reached him through the hurtling of the storm. Perhaps he recognized me, for I saw him shrink down and cower behind the stones of the bridge. I rattled to the window, pulled down the blind and turned myself to the stricken figure on the bed. As I did so old Peggy came breathing and shambling into the room. “What’s to do?” she said, coughing feebly and glaring at me. “What’s to do, Renalt?” “Look there! What’s happened--what’s the matter with him? It is death, perhaps!” She shuffled to the bedside, holding in her groaning chest with one hand. For a minute she must have stood gazing down. “Ay,” she said at last, leering round at me. “The Lord mistook the room, looking in at winder. Ralph it was were wanted--not old Peggy, praise to His goodness.” “Is he dying?” “Maybe--maybe not yet awhile. The dumbstroke have tuk him.” “Paralysis?” “So they carls it. Better ax the doctor.” “Look you to him, then, and look well, while I run out to seek for one. I leave him in your charge.” I took her by the arm and stared in her face as I spoke. My expression must have been frowning and threatening, but indeed I mistrusted the old vagabond. She shrunk from me with a twitch of fear.