misery--which could never be obliterated. Never!
"Why do you look at me like that? I am better. I know I am better. I
thought--I feared--I was going to die; if I had there was no one to
care but--Saidie."
"Do you not think what it would mean to--me?"
The words broke from him against his will.
"To--you, Jack! then you care--still!"
"Care!"
He drew his hand away and walked over to the window. The morning was
breaking: morning in the Strand; and already there was a busy hum
without.
Her eyes followed him wistfully, with a little wonderment in
them--and then the lids fell over them.
"I feel strangely weak--but--so--happy, Jack," she said. Her breath
came more easily and she slept.
Sir John Chetwynd was in his accustomed place at the accustomed hour,
grave, attentive and professional as was his wont; but after his
consulting hours were over, he went back to Cecil Street, leaving
word with Soames where he was to be found, if wanted, prepared for
another night's vigil.
"She seems neither better nor worse," said Saidie, meeting him in the
little sitting-room and carefully pulling to the door behind her.
"She is very, very weak. Is there a chance for her?"
"I am afraid to say--it depends so much on what recuperative power
she has. If the bleeding can be stopped, I shall be more hopeful."
"What is she to do, poor Bella? She will never be able to sing again,
I suppose?"
"Never." He spoke curtly, almost cruelly. Saidie burst into tears.
At that moment came a smart tap at the door.
"Mr. Bolingbroke, Miss," said a voice from without.
"He can't come up." Saidie sprang from her chair. But she was too
late. The handle turned, and a tall, distinctly good-looking man
walked in.
"Miss Blackhall--how unkind to deny me admittance. You must know how
fearfully anxious I am. How is she?"
"There's the doctor--ask him."
The stranger turned eagerly.
"This is not serious, I trust. She was always delicate, but--it is
wonderful how she pulls together when the worst is over."
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