'Pray suffer him to come; he will give you something to relieve your head.'
'No!'
'Do not, Emmeline—do not, I conjure you, refuse me this favour?'
He took her hand; but when he found how feverish she was, he started away, crying—'Oh! let him, let him come!'
He ran down stairs to fetch him, and returned instantly with the apothecary; a sensible, well-behaved man, of fifty, whose appearance indicated feeling and judgement. He approached Emmeline, who still sat with her head reclined on the table, and felt her pulse.
'Here is too much fever indeed, Sir,' said he; 'the young lady has been greatly hurried.'
'But what—what is to be done, Sir?' said Delamere, eagerly interrupting him.
'Quiet seems absolutely necessary. Pardon me, Sir; but unless I know your situation in regard to her, I cannot possibly advise.'
'Sir,' said Emmeline, who had been silent rather from inability to contend than from unconsciousness of what was passing round her—'if you could prevail with Mr. Delamere to restore me to my friends'—
'Come with me, Sir,' cried Delamere; 'let me speak to you in another room.'