Mary dozed off and was awakened in the middle of the night by loud talking. At first she thought that someone had come into the room. Then she realized that the old man himself was proclaiming. He lay on his back, his eyes open but seeing something invisible. He was talking in English, but she could not follow his gibberish. Putting a hand to his forehead she found him very warm. At her touch he shook his head, seemed to wake from his trance, and then darted his eyes about the room. He gradually focused on her, and his face grew sullen and snappish.

"You will burn the fire," he said. "Open a window. It's burning up in here."

"The room's not hot, Master," she said. "You've caught a fever."He set his jaw. "Don't you talk back to me, you black beetle. You do what I say, or I'll have you whipped." His frail, stretched face had frightening command.

"Oh, yes, Master," she said and walked slowly around the bed to the window. Pausing with her hands on the window frame she looked at Nichols and saw that his eyes had closed. "The rain has stopped, Master," she said, "but the wind is blowing fierce. River might come up."

Nichols made no reply.

"You've been sleeping," she said, "since dinnertime. I've been right here with you. Master Martin came up to see how you were. So did Master Brady. They're sleeping now." When she saw that he had forgotten about the window she walked back around the bed and began to wipe his face. "This cloth cool enough, or should I get another one?" she asked.

He was sweating profusely and beginning to tremble. As she watched, his breath came faster, and she heard a catch, a slight gurgle, at the bottom of each one. Moving with quick and surprising grace, Mary plucked the dinner bell off the table and rang it four ...