Mrs. Howard was at his bedside daily, although she was far from looking well herself. The events of the last month had told severely on her health, and she grew more pale and delicate-looking daily, while her harassing cough had returned with almost the same severity that characterized it in foggy London.
When Bayard first revived to full consciousness and found her sitting by his side, he tried to question her about Fair, but she gravely tabooed the subject.
“Doctor Gavinzel left strict orders that you must not talk, nor be talked to, on exciting subjects,” she said, and for a week longer he was forced to endure the suspense and bitterness of not knowing the fate of the girl for whose sake he was lying here so ill, with only bitter memories as his reward for having saved her life.
He wondered often if she had become reconciled to her husband and gone away with him.
“He is rich and titled now. He has all that she married him to gain, so she would not have any excuse for persisting in her separation,” he thought, with inexpressible pain.
But in spite of his wearying thoughts, his health improved daily, and one day, when he had been lying quite still for a long time, he suddenly raised his blue eyes to Mrs. Howard, and said:
“How still and quiet it seems at the villa now. As I lie here dozing and dreaming day by day, I seldom hear a sound. Have they all gone away?”
Last night Doctor Gavinzel had told her that his patient was strong enough to hear all she had to tell him, and at this question she resolved to tell him everything.
But at first she answered him evasively:
“The Fraynes went away more than two weeks ago. We all thought it best, as the doctors desired to keep you very quiet.”