She sprang up, caught my arm, and pointed anxiously.

I looked, and saw Galt Roscoe swaying as he walked.
"He is ill--ill," she said.
I ran forward and caught him as he was falling.

Ill?
Of course he was ill.

What a fool I had been! Five minutes with him assured me that he had fever.

I had set his haggard appearance down to some mental trouble--and I was going to be a professor in a medical college! Yet I know now that a troubled mind hastened the fever..