As Richard's head touched the cushion that Margaret had made ready, he gave a quick gasp, half rose as if to breathe the better, and fell back unconscious.
When the doctor arrived Richard was lying on Margaret's bed, where Oliver had carried him, he had rallied a little, and had then sunk into a deep sleep. Margaret sat beside him, watching every breath he drew, the scalding tears streaming down her face.
The physician bent closer and pressed his ear to the sleeping man's breast.
"Has he been subject to these attacks?" he said, in a grave tone.
"I know of only one some years ago, the year the war broke out, but he recovered then very quickly," answered Oliver.
"Is your mother living!"
"Yes."
"Better send her word at once."