The banker saw the lovely, frightened face peering around the curtain, and said, sharply:
"Mrs. Van Zandt, I fear you have killed your husband!"
With a stifled wail, she rushed forward and flung herself on her knees beside Eliot's unconscious form, catching his limp hands in both her warm, trembling white ones.
"Dead! Oh, no, no, Mr. Chesterton, do not charge me with such cruelty!" she cried, gazing with straining eyes into that pale, handsome face. Her touch, her voice, her gaze, seemed to recall him to life, for suddenly his eyes opened wide on that lovely face. A cry of dismay broke from her lips, and dropping his hands, she rushed through the curtains and disappeared just as two servants entered at the other door.
"Bring water and wine," said the banker. "This gentleman is ill."
Both disappeared at once, and Eliot Van Zandt struggled up to a sitting posture, gazing wildly around the room.
"Una—she was here!" he murmured, faintly.
"She has gone," Mr. Chesterton answered, gravely. "Drink this wine, Van Zandt, it will revive you."
"No; the water, please."