Mrs. Mellows turned and made a rush down the corridor. Four pairs of hands stayed her in her flight.
"No--no!" begged Dorothy. "This gentleman says she is very ill. We mustn't disturb her--Aunt--please--the doctor is coming."
As if the name had conjured him, a ring announced Doctor Balys' arrival. He entered hastily, his emergency bag in his hand.
"Mr. Brencherly, come with me, please," he ordered. "You can tell me the details as I work. Miss Marteen and Mrs. Mellows, wait for me, and I'll come and tell you the facts just as soon as I know them myself." He nodded unceremoniously and followed Brencherly.
As they neared Mrs. Marteen's room the silence was suddenly broken by a cry. Balys strode past his guide and threw open the door.
Mrs. Marteen, sitting erect in the bed, held out rigid arms as if in desperate appeal. The terrified maid stood by, wringing her hands.
"Gard!" she called. "Marcus Gard! help me! Tell me--I'll believe you--I'll believe you--will you tell me the truth!" Her strength left her suddenly, and as the physician placed a supporting arm about her, she sank back, her eyes closed wearily. As he laid her gently back upon the pillows, she sighed softly, her heavy lids unclosed a moment. "I knew you'd come," she murmured. "You'll take care of--of Dorothy--you will--" Her voice trailed off into nothingness; then "Marcus"--she whispered.
The two men turned away. Brencherly coughed. "Is there any hope?" he asked, breaking the tense silence that seemed suddenly to have entered the room like an actual presence.
The doctor nodded without speaking. "Yes--hope," he said at length, as he opened his leather satchel.