I rubbed his hands, and we forced some brandy between his lips. Presently he opened his eyes, and raised his head a little, looking half fearfully around.
“It was her voice,” he whispered, hoarsely. “It came to me through the shadows! Where is she? What have you done with her? There was a rustling of the leaves—and then I heard her speak!”
“There is no one here but Alice and myself,” I said, bending over him. “You must have been fancying things. Are you better?”
“Better!” He looked up at both of us, and the light came back into his face.
“Ah! I see! I must have fainted!” he exclaimed. “I remember the study was close, and I came to get cool. Yet, I thought—I thought——”
I held out my arm, and he staggered up. He was still white and shaken, but evidently his memory was returning.
“I remember it was close in the study,” he said—“very close; I was tired too. I must have walked too far. I don’t like it though. I must see a doctor; I must certainly see a doctor!”
Alice bent over him full of sympathy, and he took her arm. I walked behind him in silence. A curious thought had taken possession of me. I could not get rid of the impression of my father’s first words, and his white, terrified face. Was it indeed a wild fancy of his, or had he really heard this voice which had stirred him so deeply? I tried to laugh at the idea. I could not. His cry was so natural, his terror so apparent! He had heard a voice. He had been stricken with a sudden terror. Whose was the voice—whence his fear of it? I watched him leaning slightly upon Alice’s arm, and walking on slowly in front of me towards the house. Already he was better. His features had reassumed their customary air of delicate and reserved strength. I looked at him with new and curious eyes. For the first time I wondered whether there might be another world, or the ashes of an old one beneath that grey, impenetrable mask.