She could see through the crevices of the door that a light was still burning.
She knocked, but received no answer.
Then a vague shadowy fear seemed to take possession of her, and she was half afraid to enter, but being a girl of high spirit, and one who was not easily cowed, she opened the door and entered.
She saw the figure of her master in his high-backed chair.
To all appearance he was slumbering.
“Mr. Bourne—doctor!” cried Amy. “You are wanted immediately, if you please. Mrs. Curtis is very ill!”
The figure in the chair did not stir or give any indications of life. The girl cried out in something like a terrified voice, but she did not succeed in arousing her master, who had fallen back in his chair with his legs stretched out like one who had suddenly sunk into a deep slumber.
“I can’t wake him! What on earth shall I do?” cried the girl. “How very strange and how fearfully pale he looks.”
There was a small hand-lamp on the table. Amy seized hold of this and by the aid of the flame examined the features of her master.
“Heaven save us!” she ejaculated, “he must be in a fit or else——”