The intensity of the pain she was suffering effectually precluded Fleda from discovering emotion of any kind. She could not move. Only King lifted up his head and looked at the intruder, who seemed shocked, and well he might. Fleda was in her old headache position; bolt upright on the sofa, her feet on the rung of a chair while her hands supported her by their grasp upon the back of it. The flush had passed away leaving the deadly paleness of pain, which the dark rings under her eyes shewed to be well seated.
"Miss Ringgan!" said the gentleman, coming up softly as to something that frightened him,--"my dear Miss Fleda!--I am distressed!--You are very ill--can nothing be done to relieve you?"
Fleda's lips rather than her voice said, "Nothing."
"I would not have come in on any account to disturb you if I had known--I did not understand you were more than a trifle ill--"
Fleda wished he would mend his mistake, as his understanding certainly by this time was mended. But that did not seem to be his conclusion of the best thing to do.
"Since I am here,--can you bear to hear me say three words? without too much pain?--I do not ask you to speak"--
A faint whispered "yes" gave him leave to go on. She had never looked at him. She sat like a statue; to answer by a motion of her head was more than could be risked.
He drew up a chair and sat down, while King looked at him with eyes of suspicious indignation.
"I am not surprised," he said gently, "to find you suffering. I knew how your sensibilities must feel the shock of yesterday--I would fain have spared it you--I will spare you all further pain on the same score if possible--Dear Miss Ringgan, since I am here and time is precious may I say one word before I cease troubling you--take it for granted that you were made acquainted with the contents of my letter to Mrs. Rossitur?--with all the contents?--were you?"
Again Fleda's lips almost voicelessly gave the answer.