"The voice of misery!" was the answer, in a feeble voice, that sounded as if underneath him.
"Whoever you are, speak; I am a friend, can I come to you?"
"I fear not," was the reply, and at the same moment Ferdinand observed Francis at the steps of the glass doors, as if looking for him. "I am called," said he, softly, "what hour of the night is safe?"
"Not till after twelve," repeated the same voice, with a kind of groan.—Ferdinand turned short round, and met Francis advancing as quick as his feeble frame would permit.
"Oh! Sir, make haste, pray make haste."
"What is the matter?" demanded the other.
"My master, Sir, O! pray make haste." He turned back quickly, Ferdinand following him, and being more nimble got before, and run mechanically to the library, where lay extended on the floor the Solitary, apparently insensible. On advancing towards him, he perceived one side of his face dis-
