Edmund Clarke, releasing her and not yet fully awake, stammered drowsily:
"Yes—I—took—you—for—a—burglar. What do you want, Roma?"
"Yes, what is the matter, my dear?" added Mrs. Clarke wonderingly, while Roma, mistress of the situation still, pressed her hand to her cheek, groaning hysterically:
"Oh, papa, mamma, forgive me for arousing you, but I am suffering so much with a wretched toothache, and I came to ask you for some medicine to ease it!"
"Poor dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Clarke, with immediate maternal sympathy, as she rose quickly from her bed and motioned Roma into her dressing room, searching for remedies within a little medicine case while she plied her with questions.
"When did it begin to ache, dear? Why didn't you send Dolly for the medicine? It will make you worse, coming along the cold corridors!"
"For goodness' sake, don't tease! Give me the medicine quick as you can!" Roma answered crossly, dropping into a chair and hiding her face in her hands, her whole form shaking with fury at the failure of her scheme to kill Edmund Clarke.
A blind, terrible rage possessed her, and she would have liked to spring upon him and clutch his throat with murderous hands.
But she dare not give way to her murderous impulse; she must wait and try her luck again, for die he must, and that very soon.
She could only wreak her pent-up rage by cross answers to the gentle lady she called mother, and Mrs. Clarke, with a patient sigh of wounded feeling, turned to her, replying: