Margot’s feet were like ice, her fingers so cold as to be almost powerless; but as the minutes passed slowly by the active discomfort was replaced by a feeling of drowsy indifference. She seemed to have been sitting for years staring into a blank white wall, and had no longer any desire to move from her position. It was easier to sit still, and wait upon Fate.
Beneath the veil of darkness her head drooped forward, and she swayed gently from side to side. For some time these movements were so slight as to pass unnoticed by her companion, but as the drowsiness increased the muscles seemed to lose control, the swayings became momentarily more pronounced, until she tilted violently over, to recover herself with a jerk and a groan. Then indeed George Elgood was startled into anxious attention.
“What is it? What is the matter? Are you in pain?”
The inarticulate murmur which did duty for reply seemed only to whet anxiety still further.
“Miss Vane, are you ill? For pity’s sake tell me what is wrong!”
Another murmur sounded faintly in his ear, followed by an incoherent—“I’m only—asleep! So—very—tired!”
With a sharp exclamation the Editor leapt upwards, and the drowsy Margot felt herself suddenly hoisted to her feet by a pair of strong arms. The arms retained their hold of her even after she was erect, shaking her to and fro with almost painful energy.
“But you must not sleep! Margot, Margot, awake! I can’t let you sleep. It is the worst thing you could do. Speak to me, Margot. Tell me you understand. Margot! Darling! Oh, do rouse yourself, and try to understand!”
Margot never forgot that moment, or the wonder of it. She seemed to herself to be wandering in a strange country, far, far away from the solid tangible earth—a land of darkness and dreams, of strange, numbing unreality. Her eyes were open, yet saw nothing: impalpable chains fettered her limbs, so that they grew stiff and refused to move; an icy coldness crept around her heart. Hearing, like the other senses, was dulled, yet through the throbbing silence a sound had penetrated, bringing with it a thrill of returning life. Some one had called “Margot” in a tone she had never heard before. Some one had said, “Darling!”
Back through the fast-closing mists of unconsciousness Margot’s soul struggled to meet her mate. Her fingers tightened feebly on his, and her cold lips breathed a reply.