It was almost dark when he reached the secluded house where he had passed so many days and nights of anxiety, and went into the quiet room in which only a dim light was permitted to burn. Katie was sitting near the bed, but rose at his approach, and softly withdrew.
Emaciated and ghastly, save where two scarlet spots burned on the hollow cheeks, Mrs. Gerome lay, with her wasted arms thrown over her head, and her eyes fixed on vacancy. Even when delirium was at its height she yielded to the physician’s voice and touch, like some wild creature who recognizes no control save that of its keeper; and from his hand alone would she take the medicines administered.
Whether the influence was merely magnetic, he did not inquire, but felt comforted by the assurance that his presence had power to tranquillize her.
Now, as he drew her arms down from the pillow, and took her thin hot hand in his cool palms, a shadowy smile stole over her features, and she fixed her eyes intently on his.
“I knew you would protect me from him.”
“Protect you from whom?”
“From Maurice. He is hiding yonder,—behind the window-curtain.”
She pointed across the room, and a scowl darkened her countenance.
“You have only been dreaming.”