"Well, look here; she ought to have a good doctor in. I'll ask Ferrand to call. He's my doctor, and the best I know——"
"Oh, don't do that?" said Sophie hastily; "we've called a doctor in already, you know."
"Who have you got?"
"I must go—I can hear her calling," said Sophie suddenly. "Good-night."
Incontinently she disappeared, the door closed, and Bramham was left to pick his way through the dark garden as best he might.
After the sound of his steps had died away a figure stole from among the trees to the verandah, softly opened the front door and walked in upon Miss Cornell, who was in the act of mixing herself a whiskey-and-soda. The drink spilled upon the table and Sophie's mouth fell apart.
"My God, Rosalind! What a shrik[5] you gave me! Man! What's the matter with you?" At the end of her question her voice fell into a whisper. She stared with genuine horror at the wraith-like face before her: Rosalind Chard, with dilated eyes in an ashen face, drenched hair, a white lace gown wet and torn, hatless and shoeless.
[5] Start (fright).
"Gott! Rosalind!" repeated the Colonial girl. "Has someone been trying to murder you?"
"Yes," said the other tonelessly. "And I've come here for safety. Will you take me in, Sophie?"