“Please, miss, the master,” he began, and hesitated.
“Not dead?” said Mary, in a slow, quiet voice. “Do not say that he is dead!”
“No, miss, but he has had a stroke of the heart or something, and the doctor thought you had better be fetched, so I have brought the carriage.”
“Come with me, Morris,” she said, as, dropping the croquet mallet, she flew rather than ran to the brougham.
Ten minutes later they were at Seaview. In the hall they met Mr. Charters, the doctor. Why was he leaving? Because——
“No, no,” he said, answering their looks; “the danger is past. He seems almost as well as ever.”
“Thank God!” stammered Mary. Then a thought struck her, and she looked up sharply and asked, “Will it come back again?”
“Yes,” was his straightforward answer.
“When?”
“From time to time, at irregular periods. But in its fatal shape, as I hope, not for some years.”