I faced Hogvardt. He shook his head, but he smiled. Watkins stood by,
with his usual imperturbability. He wanted to know what his lordship
decided, that was all; and when I said nothing more, he asked:
"Then your lordship will sleep here to-night?"
"I'll stay here to-night, anyhow, Watkins," said I. "I'm not going to
be driven out of my own island by anybody!"
And I brought my fist down with a crash on the table. And then, to our
amazement, we heard--from somewhere in the dark recesses of the hall,
where the faint light of Hogvardt's lantern did not reach--a low, but
distinct, groan, as of some one in pain. Watkins shuddered; Hogvardt
looked rather uncomfortable; Denny and I listened eagerly. Again the
groan came. I seized the lantern from Hogvardt's hand, and rushed in
the direction of the sound. There, in the corner of the hall, on
a couch, covered with a rug, lay an old man in an uneasy attitude,
groaning now and then, and turning restlessly. And by his side sat an
old serving-woman in weary, heavy slumber. In a moment I guessed the
truth--part of the truth.
"He's not dead of that fever yet," said I.
CHAPTER III.
THE FEVER OF NEOPALIA.
I looked for a moment on the old man's pale, clean-cut, aristocratic
face; then I shook his attendant vigorously by the arm.
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