Content

But as sense and feeling returned to her in a burning flood of pain they brought also a courage as of despair--a courage and a determination to cling with all her strength to what had been hers--when--such a little time ago.

Was her love of no avail? It was at least a shelter and a refuge for him in his loneliness and grief. All jealousy of Phil had vanished now--there could be no barrier between them now he knew the truth. He was hers to shield and comfort--surely he would need her now more than ever before.

Then she remembered what she had wished to do, and crossing to the writing-table she penned a short note to the doctor. "He has remembered; I think you had better come." She signed it and fastened the envelope; her brain was working clearly now. She rang the bell and ordered the note to be taken at once, and asked for some soup and wine.

Francis would need nourishment, and although he had not appeared ill, it would be better for the doctor to be at hand in case the agitation of the afternoon prevented him from sleeping, and some soothing draught might be advisable. It was wisest to send for him. And she did not know--indeed how could she?--that the doctor was at the moment watching by a dying bed many miles away, and that her summons was destined not to reach him before the next morning.