I could hear his voice, and so I knocked. There was no answer, but I still heard the voice. I peeped in. The man lay on his back in bed, talking brokenly but with spirit, and punctuating with his arms, which he thrashed about, restlessly, as sick people do in delirium. I slipped in softly and bent over him. His mutterings and ejaculations went on.

I spoke — merely a word, to call his attention. His glassy eyes and his ashy face were alight in an instant with pleasure, gratitude, gladness, welcome:

“Oh, Sandy, you are come at last — how I have longed for you! Sit by me — do not leave me — never leave me again, Sandy, never again. Where is your hand? — give it me, dear, let me hold it — there — now all is well, all is peace, and I am happy again —