A doctor was sent for, and Sir Harold was pronounced to be in a high state of fever. A sedative was administered, and the medical man would give no decided opinion as to the malignancy of the attack. For two days he raved of many things, appealing by turns to Lady Elaine and his young wife for protection against some mysterious and dreaded phantom, and Theresa drank in every word--drank them in one by one--poison drops that crowded her soul with a hopeless misery more bitter than death. On the sixth day he was pronounced out of danger. The fever had in reality only been a passing attack, and his first rational words were a demand for his wife. “Theresa,” he said, softly, “is it not annoying that I should become ill so soon after our wedding? But I shall soon be all right again, dear one, and we will leave England, perhaps forever. I hate it now!” “And why do you hate England?” his wife asked, with a look in her eyes that made him feel uneasy. “Would you have hated your country if we had never met, Harold?” “Have I been talking some nonsense in my delirium?” was his quick demand. “Oh, Theresa, you must forget every word of it! Kiss me, little wife! and let me see the happy smile of old upon your sweet face! Do you remember how happy we were in the little garden at Tenterden, with its wonderland of flowers and nooks, its singing birds and humming bees?” “Don’t, don’t, my husband!” she sobbed. “Those blessed days are passed. They were but an illusive dream. If we were back again in the cottage, and things were just the same as then, without knowledge of the cruel world beyond, how sweet to die, with my head on your breast!” He could not understand these strange words or the hopeless look in her eyes, and he watched for Stimson with an anxiety that was painful. At last the valet was alone with him, and Sir Harold spoke quickly: “You have attended me during my fever, have you not, Stimson?” “Yes, master.” “Have I talked much? Out with it, man! Why was my wife permitted to remain at my bedside?” “She insisted, Sir Harold, upon watching over you. You have talked rather wildly about Lady Elaine Seabright, the shadow of a knife, and other equally foolish things.” For a minute Annesley was silent. His thoughts were perplexed. “Stimson,” he said at last, “my mind is now as clear as possible. I am not quite sure, though, whether or not I met Lady Elaine in Hyde Park the same day that I was taken ill. It may have been a dream, and I want you to find out the truth.” “You did meet Lady Elaine, Sir Harold. Her maid has called twice to inquire about you. Lady Annesley is not aware of it, though.” Sir Harold groaned. “Stimson, there has been some horrible mistake. I must see Lady Elaine for a few minutes, and then leave England forever. My duty is toward my loving, trusting wife.” “Yes, Sir Harold, I have Lady Elaine’s address. I send her news of your condition daily. I may have done wrong, but----”