Daniel pitied her, pitied her profoundly. Her story had appealed to the lawyer in him, he had been watching and listening for some word that he could use to save Leigh; but now something in her cry of pain, in her small, black-clad figure, her wildly lovely face, touched him. “Fanchon,” he said gently, “please give me that letter.” She lifted her head. Her tear-stained eyes met his, searched his, read a touch of friendliness in them, and her lips shook. “I’ll get it,” she said. She took a step forward, she seemed about to go into her bedroom, but suddenly she swayed, her head fell forward, and she stretched out both her hands helplessly, gropingly. “It’s all black!” she gasped. “I can’t see!” Daniel caught her barely in time, for she had fainted in his arms. XX FANCHON was very ill that night. Her stormy nature had plunged into an eclipse, and she lay white and shivering, staring at the ceiling, her half-packed trunks around her. She would not let even Emily come near her--only Miranda and the doctor, whom Daniel had summoned hastily. She had not tasted food since Leigh’s shot, and she was worn out. Dr. Barbour, prescribing food and quiet, made some gruff remarks to Mr. Carter. “No use killing her,” he said dryly. “Might as well keep her alive, as long as Corwin’s dead.” William did not come home at all, but spent the night in his office. Daniel went down there on his way to court in the morning. The elevator-boy, a young mulatto, showed the whites of his eyes as he took him up. “He ain’t been down fo’ noffin’ to eat,” he remarked. “Sen’ me fo’ bottle of whisky, but ain’t eat noffin’.” Daniel frowned. He had had his suspicions of the whisky before, though his father had never told him of his own surmises. He limped quickly over to William’s door, found it unlocked, and walked in. The shades were still drawn and the electric lights switched on. William lay stretched on an old couch in the corner, his arms under his head. At first Daniel thought he was drunk, but as their eyes met he saw that William was terribly sober. He had a look in his eyes that gave his brother a shock. It was the look of a man who coveted death. The couch was one of those high-backed affairs with a low arm at each end. Daniel sat down on the arm at William’s feet. “Fanchon’s ill,” he said quietly. “You’d better go home and see her, William.” William looked at him intently for a moment, then spoke in a voice so changed that it was startling. “I don’t want to see her,” he said coolly. “I don’t care if I never see her again.” “She’s your wife, all the same,” Daniel remarked dryly, “and she’s going to help me save Leigh.” “I’m done with her,” William retorted. “You can’t say that--you won’t say it--if she sacrifices herself for us,” returned Daniel, watching him. “I’m done with her,” William repeated, and closed his eyes, evidently considering that he had closed the subject.