"Madam," said Honoria sharply, "you are indeed ill, and I shall send for the apothecary."
"No," replied my lady languidly. "Come here."
The maid placed the cup on a side table covered with pots of pomade and bottles of Hungary water.
"Come here," repeated the Countess, and held out her hand.
Honoria caught the cold fingers.
"What is the matter?" she demanded anxiously.
The Countess slowly raised her handkerchief with her free hand and wiped her lips.
"You must tell them," she murmured. "I leave it very incomplete. I—yesterday I felt a fear of sudden death."
"God help us! Ye are not dying?" cried Honoria.