Late in the afternoon of the following day, as Webster was leaving one of the law courts where he had been pleading, a gentleman, a stranger, touched his arm and addressed him.
“You are Mr. Webster, the barrister, are you not?” he said.
“Yes,” answered Webster, looking up.
“I am Doctor Lynton,” continued the gentleman, who was a grave-faced, middle-aged man. “I have been to your chambers at the Temple to seek you, and have followed you here. I have come from Miss Kathleen Weir, the actress.”
An annoyed expression passed over Webster’s face.
“And I have come on a sad errand,” went on Doctor Lynton. “A terrible accident happened to Miss Weir last night, and she is lying now in, I fear—nay, I more than fear, I know—a hopeless condition.”
A shocked exclamation broke from Webster’s lips.
“How did it happen?” he asked. “What happened?”
“She accidentally overturned one of those tall floor-lamps, and is dreadfully burned. And she wishes to see you; she sent me to say she wishes to see you before she dies.”