Ethel stole softly and noiselessly into Hawbury's room, where the
priest was. She could see the two windows, and the priest indicated to
her the position of the sleeper.
Slowly and cautiously she stole over toward him.
She reached the place.
She knelt by his side, and bent low over him. Her lips touched his
forehead.
The sleeper moved slightly, and murmured some words.
"All fire," he murmured; "fire--and flame. It is a furnace before us.
She must not die."
Then he sighed.
Ethel's heart beat wildly. The words that he spoke told her where his
thoughts were wandering. She bent lower; tears fell from her eyes and
upon his face.
"My darling," murmured the sleeper, "we will land here. I will cook
the fish. How pale! Don't cry, dearest."
The house was all still. Not a sound arose. Ethel still bent down and
listened for more of these words which were so sweet to her.
"Ethel!" murmured the sleeper, "where are you? Lost! lost!"
A heavy sigh escaped him, which found an echo in the heart of the
listener. She touched his forehead gently with one hand, and
whispered,
"My lord!"
Hawbury started.
"What's this?" he murmured.
"A friend," said Ethel.
At this Hawbury became wide awake.
"Who are you?" he whispered, in a trembling voice. "For God's
sake--oh, for God's sake, speak again! tell me!"
"Harry," said Ethel.
Hawbury recognized the voice at once.
A slight cry escaped him, which was instantly suppressed, and then a
torrent of whispered words followed.
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