“Would your mistress see Dr. Watson?”
“I take him. I no ask leave. She needs doctor.”
“Then I’ll come with you at once.”
I followed the girl, who was quivering with strong emotions up the staircase and down an ancient corridor. At the ends was an iron-clamped and massive door. It struck me as I looked at it that if Ferguson tried to force his way to his wife he would find it no easy matter. The girl drew a key from her pocket, and the heavy oaken planks creaked upon their old hinges. I passed in and she swiftly followed, fastening the door behind her.
On the bed a woman was lying who was clearly in a high fever. She was only half conscious, but as I entered she raised a pair of frightened but beautiful eyes and glared at me in apprehension. Seeing a stranger, she appeared to be relieved, and sank back with a sigh upon the pillow. I stepped up to her with a few reassuring words, and she lay still while I took her pulse and temperature. Both were high, and yet my impression was that the condition was rather that of mental and nervous excitement than of any actual seizure.
“She lie like that one day, two day. I ’fraid she die,” said the girl.
The woman turned her flushed and handsome face towards me.
“Where is my husband?”
“He is below, and would wish to see you.”
“I will not see him. I will not see him.” Then she seemed to wander off into delirium. ‘‘A fiend! A fiend! Oh, what shall I do with this devil?”
