She lay still as death a little while, her face death-white, her eyes closed, but all alive within with wild emotion. She felt like a murderess.
The sedative took no effect. She could not sleep. Time passed on and she lay with her brain on fire till the low chime of a French clock striking noon startled her like a clarion tone.
Ethel sprang wildly from the couch and sought her writing-desk. With a shaking hand she wrote a few lines, enveloped and sealed the note, then wrote on the back her sister's name.
Laura entered in answer to the tinkle of the little bell.
"You are better, Miss Winans?"
"Oh, yes, and I want the carriage to come back for me. Go, my good girl, as fast as you can to Madame La Mode's with this note for my sister. Give it into her own hands, and the faster you do my errand, Laura, the richer shall be your reward."
"I'll run every step of the way, miss," promised the girl, taking the letter, and darting out.
Ethel had written only this:
"Dear Precious:—Do not by any means go to Hetty. I have just received a message that she is dead. You can do her no good now. Come back immediately in carriage with Laura. I want you at once.
Ethel."