At noon on the eleventh Martha awoke from a sound and restful sleep. Sweet lassitude enveloped her, but her mind went groping for something that had been troubling her in a vague sort of way for the last forty-eight hours.
"Is it the eleventh?" she whispered, stretching out her hand to the watchful nurse.
"Yes, my dear. Now try to go to sleep again—"
"Where is Mr. Ten Eyck?"
"Sh!"
"What time is it!"
"Now don't worry about the time—"
"Is it night or day?"
"It is noon."
"I am to be married at eight o'clock this evening, Miss Feeney."