"You may leave," said Humphrey, rather abruptly; "I am his brother."
Phoebe retired, and Humphrey was alone with his brother.
"It was, indeed, an unhappy day when you came to this house,"
exclaimed Humphrey, as the tears rolled down his cheeks; "my poor,
poor Edward!"
Edward now began to talk incoherently, and attempted to rise from the
bed, but his efforts were unavailing--he was too weak; but he raved of
Patience Heatherstone, and he called himself Edward Beverley more than
once, and he talked of his father and of Arnwood.
"If he has raved in this manner," thought Humphrey, "he has not many
secrets left to disclose. I will not leave him, and will keep others
away if I can."
Humphrey had been sitting an hour with his brother, when the surgeon
came to see his patient. He felt his pulse, and asked Humphrey if he
was nursing him.
"I am his brother, sir," replied Humphrey.
"Then, my good sir, if you perceive any signs of perspiration--and I
think now that there is a little--keep the clothes on him and let him
perspire freely. If so, his life will be saved."
The surgeon withdrew, saying that he would return again late in the
evening.
Humphrey remained for another two hours at the bedside, and then
feeling that there was a sign of perspiration, he obeyed the
injunctions of the surgeon, and held on the clothes against all
Edward's endeavors to throw them off.
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