I turn to my—to Marmaduke.
"It is true?" I ask.
"It is true," he replies, and as he speaks I can scarcely believe the man who stands before me, crushed and aged and heart-broken, is the same gay, handsome young man who entered the room all smiles a few minutes ago.
"If she is your wife, what am I?" I ask, with unnatural calmness.
"Phyllis! Phyllis! my life! forgive me!" he cries, in an anguished tone; and then the room grows suddenly dark; I fall heavily forward into the blackness, and all is forgotten.
----
When I recover consciousness, I find myself in my own room, lying upon my bed. The blinds are all drawn down, to cause a soothing darkness. There is a general feel of dampness about my hair and forehead; somebody is bending anxiously over me. Raising my eyes in languid scrutiny, I discover it is my mother.
"Is that you, mamma?"
"Yes, my darling."
"I did not know you were coming to-day. How is it you are here just now? and why am I lying on my bed?"