“No, not sisters.”
“What then?”
“Fairchild, I implore you——” I began, but I got no further.
From the couch upon which Miriam lay came a low peal of sarcastic laughter. Then suddenly it expired in a most piteous moan. She gave a sharp cry, and swooned.
Fairchild was at her side in a twinkling. He knelt there, seizing her hands, and gazing with wild eyes into her face.
“She is dead! She is dead!” he groaned frantically.
“No, she has only fainted, from pain and exhaustion. But the consequences of a fainting fit in her condition may be terrible,” said I.
“Oh, my darling! my darling!” he sobbed, bending over till his cheek swept her breast.
She never regained consciousness.