“Well, I shall go at once and cable to Fairchild, imploring him, commanding him, no matter at what cost, to postpone the operation until I arrive in Paris. Then I shall engage passage aboard the first swift steamer that sails. The South German Clyde steamers sail on Mondays. They make the passage in seven days, and touch at Cherbourg. Do you, meanwhile, prepare my things, so that I may take ship day after tomorrow. Once arrived in Paris, I will persuade Fairchild to relinquish the idea of the operation for good and all. I will convince him that Miriam's life will be imperilled. Or, failing in that, I may find myself compelled to tell him the truth about Louise Massarte. Anything will be better than to have her regain her memory.”
“Yes, anything. God grant that he may not disobey your telegram. But you must engage passage for me as well as for yourself. I cannot stay at home here idle. You must let me go with you. I should die of anxiety alone here at home.”
I went to the nearest telegraph office, and sent the following cable despatch:—
“Fairchild, Hôtel Bourdonnaye, Paris.
“At all costs postpone operation till I arrive. Miriam's life endangered. Sail Monday, viâ Cherbourg.
“Benary.”
Then I hastened to the steamship company's office in Bowling Slip, and engaged staterooms for my sister and myself aboard the Egmont which was to sail promptly at noon on Monday the 14th.
Yet, despite these precautionary measures, a heavy load of anxiety lay upon my heart. What if Fairchild should suffer the operation to proceed, notwithstanding my protest? I could not banish that contingency from my mind, nor its ghastly corollaries from my imagination.