"I should be glad if he would get able to go away, or die, for he's a deal of trouble to me.

Several persons have left my house on his account." "Where is he from ?" inquired Jerome.
"He's from the United States, and has been here a week to-day, and has been crazy ever since." "Has he no friends with him ?" asked the guest.
"No, he is alone," was the reply.
Jerome related to his wife what he had learned from the landlord, respecting the sick man, and the intelligence impressed her so strongly, that she requested him to make further inquiries concerning the stranger.
He therefore consulted the book in which guests usually register their names, and, to his great surprise, found that the American's name was Henry Linwood, and that he was from Richmond, Va.
It was with feelings of trepidation that Clotelle heard these particulars from the lips of her husband.
"We must see this poor man, whoever he is," said she, as Jerome finished the sentence.
The landlord was glad to hear that his guests felt some interest in the sick man, and promised that the invalid's room should be got ready for their reception.
The clock in the hall was just striking ten, as Jerome passed through and entered the sick man's chamber.

Stretched upon a mattress, with both hands tightly bound to the bedstead, the friendless stranger was indeed a pitiful sight.

His dark, dishevelled hair prematurely gray, his long, unshaven beard, and the wildness of the eyes which glanced upon them as they opened the door and entered, caused the faint hope which had so suddenly risen in Clotelle's heart, to sink, and she felt that this man could claim no kindred with her.

Certainly, he bore no resemblance to the man whom she had called her father, and who had fondly dandled her on his knee in those happy days of childhood.
"Help!" cried the poor man, as Jerome and his wife walked into the room.