For her figure was slender and graceful, like Lady Gwendolyn’s; and she gathered her skirts over her arm in a way he remembered well. But the light of the lamp over the door fell full on her face as she turned to pay the driver his fare, and then he gave a lamenting sigh. The lady was not half as handsome as Gwendolyn; but she was nearly twice her age, to make up. After awhile it became so dark that he had to retire from his post of observation, and then he passed the time watching the door. Of course, he expected her every minute, and, of course, she did not come. Colonel Dacre became in a perfect fever of expectancy and apprehension as the night advanced; and as he still found it impossible to sleep, he naturally felt exhausted and faint. Only that Gwendolyn might come while he was away, and then, of course, she would find out his ruse, and then there would be an end to his wooing. The only chance for him was to be on the spot at the supreme moment, and take her by storm. So he stayed at home, and when his sensations became unbearable, he tried his remedy of the night before, and then stumbled into bed. CHAPTER XIII. DOCTOR MAY’S PATIENT. Colonel Dacre would never forget that night of torture. The fever seemed to increase every hour, until the very pillows felt as if they were burning hot, and he stepped out of his tumbled bed, at last, and threw himself on the floor. The only comfort he had was in repeating to himself again and again: “She will come to-day--she will come to-day!” But the day passed, somehow, and there was no sign of Lady Gwendolyn. When the evening came round again he felt badly enough to alarm him a little, and he made the waiter fetch him a doctor. The pompous medico looked very grave when he had felt Colonel Dacre’s pulse. “Why, really, my dear sir, you must have been excessively imprudent!” he said. “Where did you get your cold?” Lawrence answered him by another question. “Have I a cold, then?” “Aye, and with a vengeance. I doubt if you will be able to leave your bed for another fortnight.” Colonel Dacre uttered a cry of dismay. “Nonsense, doctor, it can’t be as bad as that. Do oblige me by sitting down, and in ten minutes I shall be able to prove to you that I am already on the high way to recovery.” The doctor smiled. If his patient did talk a little nonsense, it was natural enough. With such a pulse nothing better could be expected of him. “Or rather say you will be shortly, if you keep quiet,” he said, with the diplomatic air of a man who is accustomed to humor sick people’s fancies. “Well, but what is the matter with me? I would rather know the truth, if you please.” “You have inflammation of the lungs, and as you have evidently no constitutional weakness of the chest, you must have been terribly reckless to get yourself in such a state as this.” “I am not conscious of having misconducted myself as you suggest,” he answered dryly. “People are unaccountably ill sometimes, surely.”