William went directly from Dr. Harrington's to Merle's home, where he was greeted by Mrs. Millard, who said, "I am so glad you have come, Professor, as Merle does not seem at all well. He is feverish and nervous, and has said every little while, 'I wish the Professor would come.' He will be so glad to see you. You look pale yourself; I hope you are not ill."
"Thank you, Mrs. Millard, I am well, but have just come from a professional conference. I am sorry that Merle is not feeling well. I will soon help him. Shall I go right up to his room?"
"Oh! He would get up and dress. He is in the parlor lying down. Go right in."
"See that no one disturbs us until I speak to you. I shall put him to sleep."
"No one will enter; I will see to that. I hope you will have time to see Alice, too—she also acts strangely. I do not like to intrude upon your time; you have been so good to us,—but mothers are nervous, weak creatures."
"It will be a pleasure to do anything that lies in my power for Alice, after I have restored Merle, and I will see her then. You must never hesitate to ask favors of me, Mrs. Millard. It gives me real pleasure to be of assistance to you at all times. Now I will look at Merle."
"I am sorry to see you looking so weak and sick, Merle. What do you suppose caused your sudden faintness at the concert? You were apparently well and rested before the singer's entrance. It wasn't a case of love at first sight, was it? We may as well jest as look upon the dark side of the picture."
"You don't know how grieved I was to be the means of depriving you of the pleasure of hearing so exquisite a singer as Miss Earle, knowing, as I do, your love of music. I think the very thought of how disappointed you must have been has helped to make me sick. I would like to be instrumental in bringing you happiness, but my weakness robbed you of a special delight. Really, I tried not to give up, but an irresistible wave of power seemed to pass over me."
"I understand. Do not think of me at all. My concern for you and your health supplanted every other feeling. Merle, your father is dead, and though I am not old enough in years to fill his place, my love and interest in you are sufficiently strong to warrant me a father's privilege of questioning you as to the cause of this undue illness. You know me well enough to be sure that whatever you may say to me will never be repeated. I would not ask you any questions except in the interest of science, but I want to find out what has caused this condition. You were apparently well and happy until the singer appeared, then you were taken suddenly and seriously sick. Merle, what is she to you?"
"What is she to me? Nothing. I did not even see her."