“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “What ails our precious darling?”
“The sleep is mesmeric,” answered Adele, in her low, musical voice.
“Mesmeric!” ejaculated Mr. Fleetwood.
“Mesmeric!” exclaimed Mr. Dainty, in anger. “Who has dared to do this?”
“It was Mrs. Fordham,” replied Adele.
“Who is Mrs. Fordham?”
“The woman for whom you were in search,” said Adele, turning to Florence Harper, whom she had recognised.
“Mrs. Jeckyl!” said Florence.
“Devil!” almost thundered Mr. Fleetwood.
“How is this spell to be broken?” asked Florence, coming up to Adele and grasping her arm tightly.