“The physician in charge is Doctor Langley himself,” she returned, tersely, “and he has seen you already.”
Violet started with a suppressed cry.
“Seen me already!” she repeated, in a startled tone. “Then it must have been while I was in an unconscious condition!”
The woman nodded.
“He has seen you and has given his opinion as a physician,” she said in a harsh voice. “That is all that is necessary. He is competent to judge your condition, whether you are asleep or awake.”
“Go and send Doctor Langley to me,” repeated Violet, disdainfully. “I wish to see him.”
The old woman hobbled away, closing and locking the door behind her.
The moments came and went—ten, fifteen, twenty. Violet began to despair, when all at once she heard a soft, stealthy footstep in the hall without. A moment later the key turned in the lock and the door swung open.
Violet flashed about and saw standing before her a man of some five-and-fifty years. He had a bald head and a fat, shiny face, blear eyes and sandy mutton-chop whiskers. A man with a soft, shuffling gait, a burly figure, and a generally unpleasant air. He looked what he was—a hypocrite, a villain.
The girl felt her pure soul recoil from the sight of the creature, and the glance of his small, crafty eyes made her shiver with disgust. She felt like the helpless little bird which is safely caged and trapped.