“Your father has fainted,” he said, “and I am looking for some restorative—have you any salts, or hartshorn?”
Gerald hurried to his father’s chair in sudden alarm.
“Father,” he said anxiously, and placed his hand on the insensible man’s forehead.
“Get some water,” said Wentworth—”bathe his face.”
This seemed good advice, and Gerald followed it. In a short time his father opened his eyes and looked about him in a dazed fashion.
“How do you feel, father? What made you faint?” asked Gerald.
“I dreamed that Bradley Wentworth was here, and that we had a discussion. He—he would not agree to my terms.”
“He is here,” said Gerald, and Wentworth came forward.
“Then—it is all real.”
“Yes,” said Wentworth, “but you are in no condition to talk. Let us defer our conversation.”