The manager replied in the affirmative.
"I saw a sealed letter lying on the table," she went on slowly and painfully; "I was jealous of Madame De Lisle, to whom it was addressed. I thought my husband had written it. I opened it—I—read it."
The physician stopped her a minute to pour a few drops of something between her panting lips. Then she went on:
"It was only a line imploring her to meet him for a moment at the western door. No name was signed, but I was foolish enough to believe it was—my husband."
Her dark eyes lifted to his a moment with a mute appeal for forgiveness in their dusky depths. He pressed her hand and murmured:
"My poor Sydney!"
She lay still a moment while great drops of dew beaded her white brow, forced out by her terrible suffering.
"Can we do nothing to help her?" Captain Ernscliffe inquired anxiously, as he pillowed the dark head gently on his arm.
The physician shook his head gravely.