'It is some one gone to the next floor. Lie still, dear Netta.'
'It is nice having you, Rowland; but if he should come—'
'I would go away. You are ill, Netta. Tell me what is the matter with you.'
Rowland was feeling Netta's pulse, and found that they were too rapid to be counted, whilst he could literally hear the pulsation of her heart.
'I don't know; something at my heart. And—and—my head, just here,—at the top. It is so burning, like fire.'
'We must nurse you, Netta. If you would only come to my lodgings.'
'Hush! hush! not for the world. I will stay here till—I am sure that is a step.'
'No dear. Try to be calm and sleep for half-an-hour, whilst I go and make some arrangements.'
'Do you think he will come to-night?'
'I scarcely think he can, Netta. You know he is obliged to hide, dear, do you not? for—'