Half an hour later he started for the Newbury house. He was alarmed and chilled. He could not picture Lupé--a woman of superb physique--stricken down in twenty-four hours. She had been pale and listless but otherwise well yesterday. Pancha, who was not used to sickness, had probably been frightened and had exaggerated. Thus he tried to lift the weight which had suddenly fallen on his heart. He no longer loved Lupé, but he “did not want anything to happen to her,” he thought to himself as he approached the door. Here at the curb he saw two doctors’ buggies, and, at the sight, his sense of alarm increased. There was no question about it; something serious was evidently the matter. He asked for Newbury and after a moment’s wait in the hall saw the door into the sitting-room open and that gentleman issue forth, closing the door on a murmur of male voices. Newbury looked an aged man, gray and haggard. Without any greeting, evidently too distraught by sudden calamity to wonder how Jerry had heard the bad news, he said in a low voice: “They’re holding a consultation in there”--his sunken eyes dwelt on the young man’s and he shook his head. “No hope, none. She can’t possibly get well. They don’t think she’ll live more than a day or two.” “What--what--is it?” stammered Jerry, horror-stricken. “What’s happened to her?” “A paralytic stroke. She had it early in the evening. Pancha found her lying on the sofa like a person resting, but she was paralyzed and couldn’t speak. That was what the headaches meant and we were such fools we didn’t think anything of them.” “Is she conscious? Does she know?” Jerry asked, not knowing what to say, his whole being flooded with a sense of repulsion and dread. “I think so and so does Pancha. The doctors don’t. She can’t speak or move but her eyes look full of life and intelligence, and once or twice she’s tried to smile.” A soft footfall on the stairs above caught their ears and they looked up. The Mexican woman was descending, her eyes on Jerry. Newbury cried at her in Spanish, his voice suddenly hoarse with a muffled agony of fear. She shook her head and answered in the same language, speaking at some length. Newbury translated: “She’s told Lupé that you’re here and thinks she wants to see you. She says she’s tried to speak, and, as far as she can follow, she’s under the impression that Lupé’s asked for you.” It was a hateful suggestion to Jerry. He was shocked enough already without having to suffer seeing Lupé in this unfamiliar state. He detested sad things and kept them out of his life with the utmost care. But Newbury and the woman were watching him. He realized that they both expected him to go. Deep down in the inner places of his soul the thought that Lupé could not speak passed with a vibration of relief. They followed Pancha up the softly carpeted stairs and along the passage. The woman passed through a doorway, making a gesture for them to wait, then put her head out and beckoned them in.