And to this Cora reluctantly consented. "It seems foolish," she said, plaintively, "and yet I don't think I ought to refuse to send for Doctor Le Guise. I feel as if I were really about to be very ill, hard as I have tried to fight off the weakness that is coming over me."
"And madame is so flushed, and wanders so in her sleep,"—this, of course, from Céline.
John Arthur arose from the side of the couch with considerable alacrity, saying: "I will telegraph at once. What is the address?"
Cora lay back among her pillows, with closed eyes, and made no sign that she heard. He spoke again, and the eyes unclosed slowly, and she said, with slow languor:
"Send to my brother; he will find him." Then closing her eyes, she murmured, "I want to sleep now."
Céline turned toward him an awe-struck countenance and motioned him to be silent. He tip-toed from the room, thoroughly frightened and nervous, and sent a message to Lucian Davlin forthwith.
When he was safely away, Cora awoke from her nap, and desired Céline to let in more light. This done, she propped herself up among her pillows, and taking from underneath one of them a novel, bade her maid tell everybody that she was not to be disturbed, while she read and looked more comfortable than ill.
Towards evening, John Arthur looked in, or rather tried to look in, upon his wife. But Céline assured him that her mistress was sleeping fitfully and seemed much disturbed and agitated at the slightest sound, so his alarm grew and increased.
When the evening train came he hoped almost against reason that it would bring the now eagerly looked for Dr. Le Guise.
But no one came. Later, however, a telegram from Lucian arrived, which read as follows: