"Maria! Maria!" The abbess's voice was calling her, hoarsely and almost desperately, from the next room.
She started and sat up straight, listening. Then the cry was heard again, more desperate, less loud. With a quick skill which seemed marvellous in Dalrymple's eyes, Maria adjusted her veil almost before she had sprung to her feet.
"Wait!" she said. "Something is the matter!"
She was at the bedroom door in an instant, and in an instant more she was at her aunt's bedside.
"Maria—I am dying," said the abbess's voice faintly, as she felt the nun's arm under her head.
Dalrymple heard the words, and did not hesitate as he hastily felt for something in his pocket.
"Come!" cried Maria Addolorata.
But he was already there, on the other side of the bed, pouring something between the sick lady's lips.
It was fortunate that he was there at that moment. He had indeed anticipated the possibility of a sudden failure in the action of the heart, and he never came to the convent without a small supply of a powerful stimulant of his own invention. The liquid, however, was of such a nature that he did not like to leave the use of it to Maria Addolorata's discretion, for he was aware that she might easily be mistaken in the symptoms of the collapse which would really require its use.
The abbess swallowed a sufficient quantity of it, and Dalrymple allowed her head to lie again upon the pillow. She looked almost as though she were dead. Her eyes were turned up, and her jaw had dropped. Maria Addolorata believed that all was over.