"Yes," said Hilda, sitting up and taking a vial from the table; "the doctor ordered this to be given to you when you came out of your stupor."
"Where is my nurse?" asked Lord Chetwynde, abruptly, after a short but thoughtful silence.
"She is here, my lord. She wants to do your bidding. I am your nurse."
"You!"
"Yes, my lord. And now--do not speak, but take your medicine," said Hilda; and she poured out the mixture into a wine-glass and handed it to him.
He took it mechanically, and without a word, and then his head fell back, and he lay in silence for a long time, trying to recall his scattered thoughts. While he thus lay Hilda reclined on the sofa in perfect silence, motionless yet watchful, wondering what he was thinking about, and waiting for him to speak. She did not venture to interrupt him, although she perceived plainly that he was fully awake. She chose rather to leave him to his own thoughts, and to rest her fate upon the course which those thoughts might take. At last the silence was broken.
"I have been very ill?" he said at last, inquiringly.
"Yes, my lord, very ill. You have been down to the very borders of the grave."
"Yes, it must have been severe. I felt it coming on when I arrived in France," he murmured; "I remember now. But how did you hear about it?"
"Your valet telegraphed. He was frightened," said she, "and sent for me."