"He's off again--this cursed fever--must call Julia."
"Don't!" said I, reaching out a feeble hand in supplication. "This
is--not fever, sir. This is my conscious self imploring you to keep
her away from me, or I shall truly die--or run mad--"
"O Peregrine--O Peregrine," he stammered, in choking voice, "this
can't be you--to say such things--so cruel--this is your old
delirium--you are raving again--you must be--"
"Before God, sir, speaking in all sanity, I beg and implore that you
will--keep her from me."
"Oh, damnation--this is awful!" exclaimed my uncle, his handsome face
looking strangely haggard. "Day and night in your delirium you have
lain cursing Diana and with Diana's hand upon your brow and Diana's
tears wetting your pillow--and now--O Peregrine, lad, tell me you
don't mean it--that you are a little fevered, yes--yes, people at such
times often turn against those they most love--will kill Diana else--"
"Or she me, sir--so keep her away--don't let her touch me--I'll not
see her, I say--I'll not, by God--I'll not--"
"Hush--hush! Don't scream, lad, don't scream!"
He was on his knees, had clasped my trembling weakness in his great
arms and was soothing me, and I weeping for my very impotence, when
the door opened and Aunt Julia appeared.
"Dear Heaven!" she cried, bending above me. "What have you done,
George? What have you done to him?"
"O Aunt!" I cried. "Dear Aunt Julia, don't let her touch me
again--don't let her come near me or I shall go mad--"
"No, no, my loved Perry, no one shall tend you but myself--there, dear
boy, be comforted! O George, don't stand gaping--give me the draught
yonder--quick!"
"Promise me, Aunt--swear she shall not approach me again!
"I swear it, dear Peregrine.
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