"I hope he will be after the draught I am going to give him," replied Dr. Freeman; "he has had a narrow escape with life, but it is a mercy he was there at all. No one could have acted more promptly and courageously than he did."
"I shall look in again on my patient this evening," said Dr. Anson as they shook hands. "If no feverish symptoms supervene we shall soon have the young lady quite well."
"There is more danger of fever in this case," thought the doctor, as he stood by Edward Armstrong's bed with his fingers on his pulse a few minutes later, describing what had occurred, and telling him of Miss St. Clair's hopeful condition.
The effect, however, of this information, and the remedy which he did not now refuse, were so beneficial that in less than half an hour after the doctor left him to the care of Mrs. Lake, he was sleeping calmly.
Yet potent as the medicine might be, it was not powerful enough to keep Edward Armstrong asleep all night. More than once he awoke, and finding Mrs. Lake watching in his room on the last occasion, he anxiously inquired for Miss St. Clair.
"Sleeping sweetly, sir, thank God," was the reply. "I've just been into the room, and glad enough I am that the ladies are able to take some rest. I only came in here to see if you were all right; and now I'm going to take my place in Miss St. Clair's room, while they go and lie down. Oh, sir, they're both so thankful to you for what you did last night. But I'm not going to have you waking up and losing your rest; whatever am I about, chattering like this?" And she cautiously drew the curtains closer to shut out the early summer daylight.
But Edward was too much under the effects of his draught to keep awake long. He had understood sufficiently from Mrs. Lake's speech that Miss St. Clair was in no danger, and even before she had ceased talking he fell asleep.
The morning sun, however, roused him, as he supposed, at his usual hour, and he rose quite refreshed, and feeling very little the worse for his exploits of the preceding evening.
Dressing quickly, he descended to his sitting-room and found to his surprise that the clock had struck nine.
On the mantelpiece lay his watch, which had stopped as he plunged into the water, and the hands pointed to half-past seven. Taking it up to set it to the right time, he walked to the window and looked out across the garden to the spot which had so nearly proved fatal to himself as well as to another, and shuddered as he thought of what might have been if his efforts had proved unsuccessful.