Her breathing now was more regular, and the faintest tinge of color came to her cheeks.
“She is asleep,” the nurse whispered triumphantly.
“Hush!”
Neither of them moved, and the pulsations told their tale to the physician. It was a long time that they waited, and at last Sir Felix withdrew his hand. And now his thoughts were of the husband. Only too well did he know the reputation of John Gaunt—heartless in his pursuit of fortune—and yet he must love this woman to distraction. The world, too, had its opinion of Lady Mildred. Her life, until a month or two ago, had been that of the ultra-fashionable woman of to-day. Apparently thoughtless of everything save the extraction of every possible enjoyment from each moment of her life. What was there in her to arouse so great a passion in such a man as John Gaunt? True she was very beautiful, but that in itself was not sufficient to account for such a love.
“The man behaved like a madman,” he muttered to himself.
Should he go down and relieve him of his anxiety? No. This time there should be no mistake, and he would wait until he could be absolutely certain.
In the meantime John Gaunt was pacing restlessly to and fro. Deep lines had appeared on his face, and his eyes were strained. The stronger a man’s character, the greater his capacity for suffering, and Gaunt was a strong man. As the minutes passed his agitation lessened—not that he suffered any the less acutely—but his mind had become dazed.
He thought over each event of the day. His actions in the City, and he vividly remembered his interview with Braithwaite. Had the man succeeded in obtaining money, or was his family still without food? Not that he felt any greater sympathy for him—he only wondered.
Then the deal in Amanti shares, and he muttered an exclamation of anger when he remembered that he had forgotten to leave instructions with Foster.
“Surely he will have the sense to realize,” he muttered.