SECOND SCENE.--VANGE ABBEY.--THE FOREWARNINGS

VI.

As we approached the harbor at Folkestone, Romayne's agitation appeared
to subside. His head drooped; his eyes half closed--he looked like a
weary man quietly falling asleep.

On leaving the steamboat, I ventured to ask our charming
fellow-passenger if I could be of any service in reserving places in the
London train for her mother and herself. She thanked me, and said they
were going to visit some friends at Folkestone. In making this reply,
she looked at Romayne. "I am afraid he is very ill," she said, in gently
lowered tones. Before I could answer, her mother turned to her with an
expression of surprise, and directed her attention to the friends whom
she had mentioned, waiting to greet her. Her last look, as they took
her away, rested tenderly and sorrowfully on Romayne. He never returned
it--he was not even aware of it. As I led him to the train he leaned
more and more heavily on my arm. Seated in the carriage, he sank at once
into profound sleep.

We drove to the hotel at which my friend was accustomed to reside when
he was in London. His long sleep on the journey seemed, in some degree,
to have relieved him. We dined together in his private room. When the
servants had withdrawn, I found that the unhappy result of the duel was
still preying on his mind.

"The horror of having killed that man," he said, "is more than I can
bear alone. For God's sake, don't leave me!"