He found himself the center of observation.

The room in which he was lying was large and well furnished, and from the odor of tobacco it was plainly used as a smoking-room.
Over him leaned a tall, handsome man, whose hair was slightly tinged with gray.
"I think," he said, "you are my neighbor, Lord Arleigh?
I have often seen you on the moors." "I do not remember you," Lord Arleigh returned; "nor do I know where I am." "Then let me introduce myself as the Earl of Mountdean," said the gentleman.

"You are at Rosorton, a shooting-lodge belonging to me, and I beg that you will make yourself at home." Every attention was paid to him.

He was placed in a warm bed, some warm, nourishing soup was brought to him, and he was left to rest.
"The Earl of Mountdean." Then this was the tall figure he had seen striding over the hills--this was the neighbor he had shunned and avoided, preferring solitude.

How kind he was, and how his voice affected him! It was like long-forgotten melody.