She was very far away and lay unmoving. Her breast scarcely stirred with the faintness of her breath.
"Emily! Emily!"
The doctor slightly raised his eyes to glance at him. He was used to death-bed scenes, but this was curious, because he knew the usual outward aspect of Lord Walderhurst, and its alteration at this moment suggested abnormal things. He had not the flexibility of mind which revealed to Dr. Warren that there were perhaps abnormal moments for the most normal and inelastic personages.
"Emily!" said his lordship, "Emily!"
He did not cease from saying it, in a low yet reaching whisper, at regular intervals, for at least half an hour. He did not move from his knees, and so intense was his absorption that the presence of those who came near was as nothing.
What he hoped or intended to do he did not explain to himself. He was of the order of man who coldly waves aside all wanderings on the subjects of occult claims. He believed in proven facts, in professional aid, in the abolition of absurdities. But his whole narrow being concentrated itself on one thing,—he wanted this woman back. He wanted to speak to her.
What power he unknowingly drew from the depths of him, what exquisite answering thing he reached at, could not be said. Perhaps it was only some remote and subtle turn of the tide of life and death which chanced to come to his aid.
"Emily!" he said again, after many times.
Dr. Warren at this moment met the lifted eyes of the doctor who was counting her pulse, and in response to his look went to him.
"It seems slightly stronger," Dr. Forsythe whispered.