“Danger? My dear sir, she is dying, would have been dead now, had I not had powerful restoratives handy. She can’t last out the day. Her heart has been dicky for years. Any shock might have done this. Thirty years ago her husband was drowned before her eyes—as you may have heard—down on this beach. A most devoted couple, so I’m told. Wrapped up, etc.; you know the sort of thing. The shock nearly killed her. Look at that wonderful white hair! It isn’t age. It was as white as it is to-day, when they went to her the morning after he was drowned, and she only twenty-eight, and beautiful as a June morning. I came to these parts a couple of years later. Sad case! She recovered physically, bar the heart trouble; but her mind has been touched on one point ever since. Always expecting him back. Sea give up its dead, I suppose. You know the kind of thing? I always say they should have let her see the corpse; might have cured her. But, after a week in the water! Not a pretty sight, you know. Acted for the best no doubt. Oh, she never speaks of it to me. But people talk you know; say she always keeps his room ready, and so forth. Mania, of course, but harmless, poor lady. Why do fine chaps such as he, throw away their lives for worthless young women; couldn’t sail a boat; better drowned. Thousand pities. So she watches the sea and, I suppose, saw you in difficulties. Gave her a shock; brought back the scene. Thomas and his wife are very close; told me nothing. But her maid—nice girl—said she shrieked: ‘Sir Nigel is drowning below the cliff; a boat! a rope!’ Poor soul! Sane enough, now; but heart done for.” “May I see her?” “Why not? She keeps asking for you, so Mrs. Thomas tells me. She will be gone at once, if she makes any effort or sits up. But she can’t last out the day, and she may as well have what she wants and die happy, as die, three hours later, wanting it. I had a patient once who was dying; apparently nothing could save her; and she wanted to go out into her garden, lovely garden it was, too. Nurses and relations wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Why, doctor, it might kill her!’ ‘Good Lord,’ said I, ‘and if it does? Let her die in the garden, if she wishes. Isn’t it a sweeter place to die in than her bed?’ So they carried her out, and blest if she didn’t rally from that hour and get well! Queer things, bodies! Well, I must be off. There’s nothing further to be done here; and I’ve a baby on hand, waiting to enter the world, which is, after all, of more importance than a lady waiting to make her exit.” “Can nothing be done to relieve——”