Then an hour passed, during which he heard nothing. He sat motionless, and his troubled lungs grew quiet.
Suddenly he heard Dorothy's step behind him, and rose.
"You had better come down stairs with me," she said, in a voice he scarcely knew, and her face looked almost as if she had herself passed through a terrible illness.
"How is the poor lady?" he asked.
"The immediate danger is over, the doctor says, but he seems in great doubt. He has sent me away. Come with me: I want you to have a glass of wine."
"Has he recognized her?"
"I do not know. I haven't seen any sign of it yet. But the room is dark.—We can talk better below."
"I am in want of nothing, my dear lady," said Polwarth. "I should much prefer staying here—if you will permit me. There is no knowing when I might be of service. I am far from unused to sick chambers."
"Do as you please, Mr. Polwarth," said Dorothy, and going down the stair, went into the garden.
Once more Polwarth resumed his seat.