Colonel Dacre became in a perfect fever of expectancy and apprehension as the night advanced; and as he still found it impossible to sleep, he naturally felt exhausted and faint.
Only that Gwendolyn might come while he was away, and then, of course, she would find out his ruse, and then there would be an end to his wooing.
The only chance for him was to be on the spot at the supreme moment, and take her by storm. So he stayed at home, and when his sensations became unbearable, he tried his remedy of the night before, and then stumbled into bed.
CHAPTER XIII.
DOCTOR MAY’S PATIENT.
Colonel Dacre would never forget that night of torture. The fever seemed to increase every hour, until the very pillows felt as if they were burning hot, and he stepped out of his tumbled bed, at last, and threw himself on the floor. The only comfort he had was in repeating to himself again and again: “She will come to-day—she will come to-day!” But the day passed, somehow, and there was no sign of Lady Gwendolyn.
When the evening came round again he felt badly enough to alarm him a little, and he made the waiter fetch him a doctor. The pompous medico looked very grave when he had felt Colonel Dacre’s pulse.
“Why, really, my dear sir, you must have been excessively imprudent!” he said. “Where did you get your cold?”
Lawrence answered him by another question.
“Have I a cold, then?”