[CHAPTER XVI]
A CRY IN THE NIGHT
ELEANOR tiptoed over to the bed. At last Cynthia had dropped asleep. It seemed hours since Lane’s call for help had taken her into the drawing-room, where she found Cynthia stretched upon the floor and the young officer bending frantically over her. Dr. Marsh, who fortunately resided next door but one, had been sent for, and, on his arrival in hot haste, Cynthia had been revived and carried to her room. Cynthia had shown a sudden aversion to having Annette about, so Eleanor had sent the maid to bed, and since ten o’clock had been sitting with Cynthia, trying to quiet her.
Eleanor glanced about the room. There was nothing more she could do, and, stretching herself wearily, she arranged the night light so that it would not shine in Cynthia’s eyes, and placed an old-fashioned brass bell on the small table by the bed, so that if Cynthia needed assistance she could ring for aid. Then, moving softly for fear of waking the sleeper, she stole across the room, turned out the gas, and, stepping into the hall, closed the door gently after her.
Some time later she was busy undressing in her own room when a faint knock disturbed her. On opening the door she found Mrs. Truxton standing in the hall with a quilted wrapper drawn tight around her portly figure.
“I thought you hadn’t gone to bed,” she remarked in a sibilant whisper which was more penetrating than an ordinary low-pitched voice. “I just could not go to bed”—selecting a large oak rocker—“until I had some explanation of this extraordinary affair. Will you please inform me what made that poor girl faint in the drawing-room?”
“She is in a very nervous, excitable condition, Cousin Kate, which reacts on her heart action.” Eleanor glanced despairingly at Mrs. Truxton. She knew the latter was an inveterate, though kindly, gossip. Apparently she had come to stay for some time, as she sat rocking gently to and fro, her curl papers making a formidable halo around her soft gray hair.
“Heart action?” echoed Mrs. Truxton. “That’s as it may be. What was Captain Lane doing here?”
Eleanor started violently. She particularly wanted to keep the fact that Cynthia and Lane had been together a secret. She had watched for his arrival, and had let him in before he had an opportunity to ring the front door bell, and had shown him at once into the deserted drawing-room. During their interview she had mounted guard in the hall. Hearing Lane’s call for assistance, she had opened the drawing-room door, and, before summoning her uncle and the servants, had advised Lane to leave the house. She supposed he had followed her advice.
“Where in the world did you see him?” she asked.