“Then I presume her name—Mrs. Church—is an assumed one?”
“I can not even answer that question. But let her have everything she can possibly require; I shall be answerable for all the expenses connected with her case.”
“And yet—you can do nothing to relieve her mind?”
“Nothing; I only wish I could.”
“Well, I must try to pull her through; poor young thing, it seems a sad case.”
“It is a terribly sad case.”
After this Ralph Webster went away, but each morning before he began his work he went to inquire at the hospital about “Mrs. Church.” And May was very ill. The shock had affected her physically as well as mentally and she lay prostrate, hopeless, wishing the life was ended that Webster had done his best to save. There were times when her mind wandered, and the fever ran high. But as a rule her great weakness was what the doctor feared most. It was as though the spring of youth were broken—the flower blighted in its bloom.
Meanwhile as days and weeks went on naturally the friends of the absent girl began to grow again uneasy concerning her fate. Mr. Churchill had returned to Woodside after his visit to London and the Misses Webster, an elated, almost overjoyed man. He had examined the register which recorded the marriage of John Temple and May Churchill, and he had seen the clergyman who had performed the ceremony. Therefore, his mind was set at rest regarding May. He did not write his news to his wife. He wished personally to carry it to her, and felt a sort of secret triumph when he remembered the remarks Mrs. Churchill had made regarding May’s disappearance.
He accordingly telegraphed to her the hour that he hoped to arrive at home, and desired the dog-cart might be waiting for him at the station to meet the train which he intended to travel by. It was waiting for him, and he was driven home, and standing at the open hall door when he reached Woodside was his wife ready to receive him.
She went quickly forward to meet him, and looked eagerly in his face.