The man had evidently gone to sleep.
"What a fool I am!" Martine again muttered. "Let the poor fellow
sleep. The fact that he doesn't know me is proof enough. The idea
of wanting any proof! I can investigate his case in the morning,
and, no doubt, in broad light that astonishing suggestion of
Nichol will disappear."
He was about to turn away when the patient who had called for
water groaned slightly. As if his ears were as sensitive to such
sounds as those of a mother who hears her child even when it
stirs, the man arose. Seeing Martine standing by him, he asked in
slight irritation, "What yer want? Why kyant yer say what yer want
en have done 'th it? Lemme 'tend ter that feller yander firs'. We
uns don't want no mo' stiffs;" and he shuffled with a peculiar,
noiseless tread to the patient whose case seemed on his mind.
Martine followed, his very hair rising at the well-remembered
tones, and the mysterious principle of identity again revealed
within the circle of light.
"This is simply horrible!" he groaned inwardly, "and I must have
that man account for himself instantly.
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