“Mr. Wayne,” she said, “we hardly expected you to-day; but I am very glad you have arrived. My name is Sylvester, and I am the only one at liberty to come to you just now.”
Earle returned her greeting, wondering who Mrs. Sylvester could be—certainly not the housekeeper, for her manner and bearing forbade him to believe that she occupied that position; and he had heard Editha say they had no near relatives living.
She might be some friend or neighbor come in to relieve her and share her lonely vigils, he thought.
He inquired if Miss Dalton was well, and noticed that a queer little smile wreathed the lady’s lips, as she replied:
“Editha is quite well, and is sleeping just now. Mr. Dalton had an extremely distressing night, and she would persist in sitting up with him until nearly morning. The poor darling has been unremitting in her care, and is nearly worn out,” Mrs. Sylvester concluded, speaking with great tenderness.
Earle then inquired concerning Mr. Dalton’s illness and its cause.
“That is a long, long story, and I will leave it for Editha to tell you when she wakes, and you are rested. I will only say that it was brought on by excessive excitement, during which he ruptured a blood vessel.”
Earle expressed great surprise at this, and madam continued:
“He recovered somewhat from the first attack of bleeding, and we were hoping his recovery would be permanent, when he had another, since which he has been rapidly failing. As soon as he became conscious that he could not live, he seemed to be exceedingly troubled regarding some injury which he had done you, and wished you sent for immediately. He will be much relieved to know of your arrival, for he has been very restless and anxious ever since Mr. Tressalia sent the telegram.”
“Is there no possible hope of his recovery?”