"I never dreamed that you had money about you my poor child," she said, "or I would have suggested your leaving it with me. I worried afterward about putting you in this room with Margaret Brown; but we were full, and there was no help for it. That is her great fault. She is not honest. We knew that, but when she appealed to me for a night's lodging, I could not turn her away. The front door is never locked, and those who come here can leave when they like. We found it standing open this morning, and we felt something was wrong."
But Bernardine did not hear the last of the sentence. With a cry she fell to the floor at the matron's feet in a death-like swoon.
Kind hands raised her, placed her on the couch, and administered to her; but when at length the dark eyes opened, there was no glance of recognition in them, and the matron knew, even before she called the doctor, that she had a case of brain fever before her.
This indeed proved to be a fact, and it was many a long week ere a knowledge of events transpiring around her came to Bernardine.
During the interim, dear reader, we will follow the fortunes of Jay Gardiner, the young husband for whom Bernardine had watched and waited in vain.
When he was picked up unconscious after the collision, he was recognized by some of the passengers and conveyed to his own office.
It seemed that he had sustained a serious scalp-wound and the doctors who had been called in consultation looked anxiously into each other's faces.
"A delicate operation will be necessary," said the most experienced physician, "and whether it will result in life or death, I can not say."
They recommended that his relatives, if he had any, be sent for. It was soon ascertained that his mother and sister were in Europe, traveling about the Continent. The next person equally, if indeed not more interested, was the young lady he was betrothed to marry—Miss Pendleton. Accordingly, she was sent for with all possible haste.
A servant bearing a message for Sally entered the room.