This was done, and the old man was placed on the sofa, with the curtains drawn back as far as possible to let in the light of the November afternoon which was fast waning.
Although it was near dusk, it was still light enough for the doctor to attend his patient without lighting the lights when he arrived, which was a very few moments after he had been summoned.
Ray Challoner stood by the improvised couch with apparently much solicitude.
The old man’s head had scarcely been bandaged ere there was the sound of silken skirts in the corridor without.
“It is my lady,” exclaimed old Dan, hurrying forward to acquaint her with what had transpired.
Instinctively Raymond Challoner’s eyes sought the door for the first glimpse of the woman who had cheated him out of a fortune by wedding the old miser, as his uncle was called—for his gold.
He was standing in the shadow of the portières when she entered.
One glance, and he could hardly repress the cry of amazement that hovered on his lips. His eyes encountered the tall, willowy figure of Queenie Trevalyn.
Challoner hastily turned up his coat collar and pulled his felt hat down low over his eyes, that her eyes, in sweeping around the room, might not recognize him.
“Mrs. Brown, I believe,” said the doctor, stepping forward and bowing profoundly to the lovely young woman who came hastily into the parlor, her costly silken robe trailing after her on the velvet carpet.