Nor is it that of the ex-Ranger himself.

It is Don Prospero, who soon after enters the room, the lady leading the way.
A man of nigh sixty years of age, spare form and face, hair grizzled, cheeks wrinkled; withal hale and hearty, as can be told by the pleasant sparkle of his eye.

Dressed in a semi-military suit, of a subdued tint, and facings that tell of the medical staff.
At a glance there is no danger in Don Prospero.

The invalid feels easier, and breathes freely.
"Glad to see you looking so well," says Don Prospero, taking hold of his patient's wrist and trying the pulse.

"Ah! much more regular; it will be all right now.