And now the old materialist asked anxiously, not scoffingly: “Doctor, do you really believe that this spirit can drag Mrs. Wells down?”
“That depends upon herself. Mrs. Wells knows what she must do. I have told her. If she does this, she will be safe. If not—”
His eyes were inexpressibly tragic, and at this moment the neighboring chimes resounded musically through the quiet sanitarium—a quarter to twelve!
CHAPTER XVII
THE HOUR OF THE DREAM
When Seraphine led Captain Herrick into the bedroom where Penelope lay propped up against pillows, her dark hair in braids and a Chinese embroidered scarf brightening her white garment, it seemed to Christopher that his beloved had never been so adorably beautiful.
Gallantly and tenderly he kissed the slim white hand that his lady extended with a brave but pathetic smile.
Seraphine withdrew discreetly.