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There seemed to Clarice to be a familiar look about this representation of a fern. The double sheet of writing paper was thick and glossy, with untrimmed edges, and on this the curved fern, with its fronds wonderfully delicate and distinct, had evidently been impressed with an india-rubber stamp, moistened with purple ink. The square-sized envelope bore no address, no stamp, and no seal. What could one make of such a missive? It appeared meaningless, yet to Clarice the fern itself recalled some faint memory. Probably that memory, whatever it might be, was clearer to Horran, and so had given him the shock of which he had complained.
After some consideration, Clarice slipped the envelope and sheet of paper into her pocket, thinking it advisable to remove them from Horran's sight. He had fallen into a deep sleep, and was breathing almost imperceptibly, his face looking singularly calm and unwrinkled. Whatever his disease might be, he certainly was not suffering pain; but it was strange that after a ten hours' sleep, he should again relapse into slumber. Still, from his looks there was no cause for alarm, so Clarice touched the bell, and when Chalks entered, she pointed silently to his unconscious master.