Time and our story will show.
CHAPTER XXVI.
REVERSES.
Meanwhile how fared it with poor Sybil, who knew not whether he was at home or abroad, or had already forgotten her, and married perhaps the more sparkling and showy Rose Trecarrel?
Re-addressing Audley's letter was fated to be the last action the right hand of Constance was to perform in this world.
For the two days subsequent to the episode just related she remained in bed, exhausted apparently, sadder and lower in spirit than usual; and on the morning of the third, Sybil, when drawing back the curtains to see if she were asleep or awake, to receive her daily kiss and join in prayer, was inexpressibly shocked and terrified to perceive a peculiar fixity in one eye, and that a corner of her still beautiful mouth was strangely drawn down on one side.
Paralysis had supervened, and poor Constance had totally lost the use of one half of her body!
Summoned in hot haste, the village doctor came, with his stereotyped professional expression of sympathy. He felt her pulse, repeater in hand, and ominously shook his head.
"Oh, sir, do you think there is danger?" asked Sybil, in intense agitation.
"Hush, child—come this way," said he, and led her from the room.