"It is a dangerous time," said the doctor. "Very little may do damage. We can't be too careful in these affairs."
He finished with his gloves, and put out his hand.
"Have I," stammered Farrell, "have I done irreparable harm?"
"She is very delicate," said the doctor.
"What will it mean?" asked the husband, lowering his voice.
The doctor smiled and touched him with his fingers. "If you were to cut your finger, my friend, a doctor would never prophesy. Events are out of all proportions to causes." He put his own hand upon the latch. "I will call to-morrow early," he said, "and will send a nurse at once."
Farrell took his arm in a hard grip.
"Is she dying?" he asked hoarsely.
The doctor moved impatiently. "My dear sir, certainly not," he answered hastily. He threw open the door and emerged into the night. "I would not distress myself with unnecessary fancies, Mr. Farrell," said he, as he dropped down the steps.
Farrell walked down the hall to the foot of the stairs. He laid a hand upon the balustrade uncertainly. The house was engrossed in silence; then from the floor above came a sharp cry, as of a creature in pain, and a door shut softly. Trembling, he rushed into the dining-room, and hid his face in his hands. Yet that weak device was no refuge from his hideous thoughts. His brain was crowded with fears and terrors; in the solitude of that chamber he was haunted by frightful ghosts. The things stood upon the white cloth, like spectres; the lamp burned low, and splashes of flame rose and fell in the ashes. He rose and poured some brandy into a glass. The muscles jumped in his hands, and the liquor spilled over the edges and stained his shirt, but the draught strung up his nerves, and brighter thoughts flowed in his
