"Will you see a visitor, Richard?"

"A visitor!" I repeated, with misgiving. 'Twas not so she had announced Comyn.

"Will you see Mr. Allen?"--

"Mr. Allen, who was the rector of St. Anne's? Mr. Allen in London, and here?"

"Yes." Her breath seemed to catch at the word. "He says he must see you, dear, and will not be denied. How he discovered you were with us I know not."

"See him!" I cried. "And I had but the half of my strength I would fling him downstairs, and into the kennel. Will you tell him so for me, Dorothy?"

And I raised up in bed, shaken with anger against the man. In a trice she was holding me, fearfully.

"Richard, Richard, you will open your wound. I pray you be quiet."

"And Mr. Allen has the impudence to ask to see me!"

"Listen, Richard. Your anger makes you forget many things. Remember that he is a dangerous man, and now that he knows you are in London he holds your liberty, perhaps your life, in his hands."

It was true. And not mine alone, but the lives and liberty of others.