CHAPTER XV.
CHLORAL.
It was a half hour past midnight. A cab drew
up in front of a residence in New York, and two
men bore something into the outer doorway.
The bell gave a startling alarm, and presently, from within, a voice asked, with drowsy tremor:
"Is that you, Robert, husband?"
"Open the door quickly," some one insisted.
"But that is not Robert's voice," she faltered.
"Madam, a friend has brought your husband home."
This assurance caused the door to be quickly opened.
"Good heavens! is he ill? Is he hurt? Bring him this way," she excitedly directed.
The silken draperies of the bed were trembling, showing that she had just left their folds. After depositing the burden, the cab man bowed, and left them.
"It is not at all serious, my dear madam," the friend began, "but the truth is—" here he hesitated
