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“Sit still, Ma’am; I won’t hurt yer, nor even scare yer, if I can help it, but yer waked too soon.”

“Let me go, Robert,–the captain is stirring, –I must give him something.”

“No, Ma’am, yer can’t stir an inch. Look here!”

Holding me with one hand, with the other he took up the glass in which I had left the draught, and showed me it was empty.

“Has he taken it?” I asked, more and more bewildered.

“I flung it out o’ winder, Ma’am; he’ll have to do without.”

“But why, Robert? why did you do it?”

“Because I hate him!”

Impossible to doubt the truth of that; his whole face showed it, as he spoke through his set teeth, and launched a fiery glance at the unconscious captain. I could only hold my breath and stare blankly at him, wondering what mad act was coming next. I suppose I shook and turned white, as women have a foolish habit of doing when sudden danger daunts them; for Robert released my arm, sat down upon the bedside just in front of me, and said, with the ominous quietude that made me cold to see and hear,–

“Don’t yer be frightened, Ma’am: don’t try to run away, fer the door’s locked an’ the key in my pocket; don’t yer cry out, fer yer’d have to scream a long while, with my hand on yer mouth, before yer was heard. Be still, an’ I’ll tell yer what I’m goin’ to do.”

“Lord help us! he has taken the fever in some sudden, violent way, and is out of his head. I must humor him till some one comes”; in pursuance of which swift determination, I tried to say, quite composedly,–

“I will be still and hear you; but open the window. Why did you shut it?”

“I’m sorry I can’t do it, Ma’am; but yer’d jump out, or call, if I did, an’ I’m not ready yet. I shut it to make yer sleep, an’ heat would do it quicker’n anything else I could do.”

The captain moved, and feebly muttered, “Water!” Instinctively I rose to give it to him, but the heavy hand came down upon my shoulder, and in the same decided tone Robert said,

“The water went with the physic; let him call.”

“Do let me go to him! he’ll die without care!”

“I mean he shall;–don’t yer interfere, if yer please, Ma’am.”

In spite of his quiet tone and respectful manner, I saw murder in his eyes, and turned faint with fear; yet the fear excited me, and, hardly knowing what I did, I seized the hands that had seized me, crying,–

“No, no, you shall not kill him! it is base to hurt a helpless man. Why do you hate him? He is not your master?”

“He’s my brother.”

I felt that answer from head to foot. and seemed to fathom what was coming, with a prescience vague, but unmistakable. One appeal was left to me, and I made it.

“Robert, tell me what it means? Do not commit a crime and make me accessory to it– There is a better way of righting wrong than by violence;–let me help you find it.”

My voice trembled as I spoke, and I heard the frightened flutter of my heart; so did he, and if any little act of mine had ever won affection or respect from him, the memory of it served me then. He looked down, and seemed to put some question to himself; whatever it was, the answer was in my favor, for when his eyes rose again, they were gloomy, but not desperate.

“I will tell you, Ma’am; but mind, this makes no difference; the boy is mine. I’ll give the Lord a chance to take him fust; if He don’t, I shall.”

“Oh, no! remember, he is your brother.”

An unwise speech; I felt it as it passed my lips, for a black frown gathered on Robert’s face, and his strong hands closed with an ugly sort of grip. But he did not touch the poor soul gasping there before him, and seemed content to let the slow suffocation of that stifling room end his frail life.