Half an hour later the brougham stopped before the house in Upper Baker Street.
Lord Watergate, when he had carried the fainting girl upstairs, went himself for a doctor.
"I think I have killed her," said Gertrude, before he went, looking up at him from over the prostrate figure of her sister; "and if it were all to be done again—I would do it."
Mrs. Maryon asked no questions; her genuine kindness and helpfulness were called forth by this crisis; and her suspicions of Gertrude had vanished for ever.
CHAPTER XX. IN THE SICK-ROOM.
A riddle that one shrinks