"Never mind me," the dark eyes opened, the brows drew together in a frown; "only go to him—and do what he needs. I shall be all right; it is only he who matters."
Unfeignedly puzzled, and with all her nervous tremors trooping back upon her, Christina went across the landing, and turned along the passage as directed. Who and what was she going to find in that third room on the left? And why was there a necessity for all this secrecy? Her heart beat very fast, so fast that it nearly suffocated her, as she passed on and paused at the third door, wondering again with a sinking dread, what new mystery was to be revealed to her? To her soft knock, a man's voice responded:
"Come in," and she entered a warm and luxuriously-furnished apartment, which appeared to be sitting-room and bedroom combined. Closely wrapped in a thick dressing-gown, and seated in an armchair by the fire, was a man whose cadaverous face and sunken eyes seemed to show recent recovery from some severe illness; and his efforts to rise, when he saw a stranger at the door, only resulted in his sinking back with a groan.
"Who are you?" he asked; "why have you come? Where is Madge?"
Christina fancied she detected a faint foreign accent in his words, though he spoke fluent English.
"I was sent by—by the lady of the house," Christina answered. "I—don't know her name, but she is—very tired." She substituted that word for "ill," when she saw how the sick man started and flushed. "She asked me to come and see if there is anything you need."
"Madge tired?" he said in a slow, dreamy voice; "it is so difficult to think that Madge can be tired. She used to be such a tower of strength, always such a tower of strength."
His sunken eyes glanced wistfully at Christina; she felt compelled to utter some words of comfort.
"Perhaps she is only tired—just for the time," she answered, though in uttering the words a remorseful remembrance smote her of the fragile white face of the woman she had left. "She will feel stronger again soon."
"Do you think so? Do you really think so." He leant forward, and Christina saw how his hands were trembling; "you see, I feel—I can't help feeling—that it is my fault—all my fault. First, the old trouble; and then, my coming back to burden—— But you are a stranger to us," he exclaimed, breaking off and looking at her with a new alertness; "why did Madge send a stranger? Where is Elizabeth?"