This was the first sign.
"Where are you going?" asked the invalid, querulously, as his companion
moved towards the door.
"When was the doctor here last?" demanded Langholm in return.
There was silence for a few moments, and then a faint laugh, that
threatened to break into a sob, from the bed.
"I see what you think. How can I convince you that I have all my wits
about me? I'd rather not have a light just yet--but in my bag you'll
find a writing-case. It is locked, but the keys are in my trouser's
pocket. In my writing-case you will find a sealed envelope, and in that
a fuller confession than I shall have breath to make to you. Take it
downstairs and glance at it--then come back."
"No, no," said Langholm, hoarsely; "no, I believe you! Yes--it was my
first idea!"
"I hardly knew what I was doing," Severino whispered. "I was delirious
then, if you like! Yet I remember it better than anything else in all my
life. I have never forgotten it for an hour--since it first came back!"
"You really were unconscious for days afterwards?"
"I believe it was weeks. Otherwise, you must know--she will be the first
to believe--I never could have let her--"
"My poor, dear fellow--of course--of course.
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