And excuse me, sir,' added Sam, 'you won't forget about the letter neither ?' 'Surely not,' said Mr.Archer.
Oglethorpe lay in a low bed, one of several in a long garret of the inn.
The rain soaked in places through the roof and fell in minute drops; there was but one small window; the beds were occupied by servants, the air of the garret was both close and chilly.

Mr.Archer's heart sank at the threshold to see a man lying perhaps mortally hurt in so poor a sick-room, and as he drew near the low bed he took his hat off.

The guard was a big, blowsy, innocent-looking soul with a thick lip and a broad nose, comically turned up; his cheeks were crimson, and when Mr.
Archer laid a finger on his brow he found him burning with fever.
'I fear you suffer much,' he said, with a catch in his voice, as he sat down on the bedside.
'I suppose I do, sir,' returned Oglethorpe; 'it is main sore.' 'I am used to wounds and wounded men,' returned the visitor.

'I have been in the wars and nursed brave fellows before now; and, if you will suffer me, I propose to stay beside you till the doctor comes.' 'It is very good of you, sir, I am sure,' said Oglethorpe.

'The trouble is they won't none of them let me drink.' 'If you will not tell the doctor,' said Mr.Archer, 'I will give you some water.