“This is dreadful,” she said; “for heaven’s sake tell me what is the matter.”
Philip’s ghastly gaze again fixed itself on the chair, and his teeth began to chatter.
“Great God,” he said, “it is coming.”
And, uttering a smothered cry, he fell on his face in a half faint. The necessity for action brought Angela to herself. Seizing the water-bottle, she splashed some water into her father’s face. He came to himself almost instantly.
“Where am I?” he said. “Ah! I remember; I have not been quite well. You must not think anything of that. What are you doing down here at this time of night? Pass me that bottle,” and he took nearly half a tumbler of raw brandy. “There, I am quite right again now; I had a bad attack of indigestion, that is all. Good night.”
Angela went without a word. She understood now what her father had meant when he said that he was “accursed;” but she could not help wondering whether the brandy had anything to do with his “indigestion.”
On the following day the doctor came to see her. It struck Angela that he came oftener than was necessary, the fact being that he would gladly have attended her gratis all year round. A doctor does not often get the chance of visiting such a patient.
“You do not look quite so well to-day,” he said.
“No,” she answered, with a little smile; “I had bad dreams last night.”
“Ah! I thought so. You should try to avoid that sort of thing; you are far too imaginative already.”