"Morier!" said Luke to me. "If you can help Carlotta, you will, won't you? I can't do any more for her now. We are in mortal fear of each other."
"As much as she'll let me," said I, looking at her drooping figure, that was built on such a strong frame.
The fire rustled on the hearth as we sat in complete silence. How long it lasted I cannot say. Yet we were none of us startled when the door opened.
It was the Colonel, in a handsome brocade dressing-gown, looking worried.
Luke still held the dark young woman's hand clasped against his thigh. Mrs. Hale did not move.
"I thought you fellows might help me," said the Colonel, in a worried voice, as he closed the door.
"What is wrong, Colonel?" said Luke.
The Colonel looked at him, looked at the clasped hands of Luke and the dark young woman, looked at me, looked at Carlotta, without changing his expression of anxiety, fear, and misery. He didn't care about us.
"I can't sleep," he said. "It's gone wrong again. My head feels as if there was a cold vacuum in it, and my heart beats, and something screws up inside me. I know it's Lucy. She hates me again. I can't stand it."
He looked at us with eyes half glazed, obsessed. His face seemed as if the flesh were breaking under the skin, decomposing.