But still she lost. In less than half an hour she had only a single louis left, and, rising abruptly, she walked out of the _salon_ like a woman in a dream. A louis! Of what use was that? She went back to her hotel, and locked herself in her room. Her brain felt on fire. She thought she was going mad. She wanted to cry, but could not. For an hour she lay on her bed, suffering mental agony. Then with an effort she got up, and sent off a telegram. CHAPTER XXIX. A MESSAGE FROM YOOTHA. It was seven in the morning when Preston was awakened by his servant, Tom, and handed a telegram which had just arrived. Before he opened it he guessed it must be from Yootha. It ran as follows: “I am in great trouble. Can you possibly come to me? I am alone here and ill in bed. Jessica and the others have left Monte Carlo. Do please telegraph a reply as soon as this reaches you.” Preston was not a man to deliberate. He always made up his mind at once, and acted without hesitation. “Is the messenger waiting?” he asked Tom, who still stood at his bedside. “Yes, sir.” “Then give me a foreign telegram form.” Swiftly he scribbled the answer. “Give that to the boy,” he said, “and sixpence for himself, and tell him to get back to the post office as quickly as he can. Then come back to me.” In a moment the man returned. “Pack my suit-case, Tom. I am going to Monte Carlo at once.” “For how long, sir?” “Pack enough for a fortnight.” He traveled through to the Riviera without stopping in Paris, and drove direct to the Hotel X. Upon inquiring for Yootha he was told that the doctor was with her. The hotel manager looked grave when Preston inquired how ill she had been. A moment later the door opened, and a solemn-faced gentleman of patriarchal aspect entered. The manager at once introduced him to Preston, and explained who Preston was. “She has dropped off to sleep at last,” the doctor said. “I had to give her a mild narcotic. She has been eagerly awaiting your arrival since she received your wire, and I believe your presence will do her more good than anything else. She appears to be suffering chiefly from shock--a mental shock of some sort. Her nerves are greatly upset.” When some hours later Yootha awoke, her gaze rested upon her lover seated beside her bed. For a moment she fancied she must still be dreaming. Then, with a glad cry, she sat up and stretched her arms out to him. “Oh, my darling,” she cried, “how good of you to have come to me! Even when I got your telegram I feared that something might detain you. I have had a terrible time since last we met--terrible!”