"Give me some of the medicine—a double dose—yes, and when Mr. Gascoigne comes show him in at once." Then, as she looked at Mrs. Rattray, "I wish to see him alone—on family business."
"Cannot Colonel Wilkinson——" began her friend persuasively.
But she cut her short with a quick gesture of dissent.
"Very well, dear," agreed her nurse, "I will bring him in the moment he arrives; but promise me not to talk much, or to let him stay more than five minutes."
"Oh, I promise nothing; it is for him to do that," panted the invalid. "But I—won't keep him long."
When the visitor, greatly bewildered, was ushered into a large darkened room, with a slowly moving punkah, he was prepared to see a certain change in his cousin Lena, but he was horrified when he beheld her, half sitting up, arrayed in pink satin and pearls, her hair elaborately dressed, her eyes glittering with fever—death in her face. Oh, why did Mrs. Rattray lend herself to this frightful mockery? He glanced over at that blameless lady, who obviously avoided his eye.
"Well, Phil—so good of you to come," said the invalid in a weak voice. "I'm a little better to-day, and I want so much to have a talk with you."
As she concluded, Mrs. Rattray, who had placed a chair for the visitor, stole out on tip-toe, dropping the purdah softly behind her.
"You should not talk, or see anyone, Lena," he protested, still standing, "and I am not going to stay."
"Oh, yes, just for a few minutes," she pleaded, laying a burning hand on his wrist, "for I have something most urgent to say to you, and until I say it I cannot rest in peace. It is about Angel; sit down, won't you," pointing to the chair, "and where I can see you."