My fears inclined me to accept the second, and resulted in a dim sort of jealousy of the right man, who, I suspected, was Hamilton.
When Betty started to leave me, I caught her skirt to detain her, and said: "When George Hamilton used to come here, I was jealous of him, and feared that he might be the 'certain customer.' But I am glad that he has left England." The girl blushed as she answered, "No, no, Baron Ned, there is no other 'certain customer.'" But she checked herself, evidently having said more than she intended, and continued hurriedly: "But Master Hamilton has not left England.

He is now in the Old Swan.

He asked me to say nothing of his presence in London, but I know he would want me to tell you." "Yes, yes, of course he would, Betty.

Where is he ?" I asked.
"Upstairs in bed," she answered.
"Is he sick ?" I asked, rising.
"No and yes," she replied.

"He is suffering from his wounds, and the surgeon says the fever is mounting rapidly to his head." "His wounds ?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, lots of them," she answered.