At present it was difficult to come to any decision relative to Florry's illness as the crisis had not yet come, and youth, health, and love of life were all fighting desperately against the shadow of death. The shock sustained by Florry on hearing of the untimely end of her lover had quite unsettled her brain, and the balance was trembling between health and sickness, between sanity and insanity, between life and death. She needed constant watching, for at times, in the most unexpected manner, she would spring from her bed and try to leave the room, bound on some fantastic journey created by the excited state of her brain. At other times she lay languid and exhausted, with dim, unseeing eyes, raving madly about her lover and the unforeseen calamity of his death. Afraid to trust this fragile life to the care of a hired nurse, Judith herself sat by the bedside, and ministered to the wants of the sick girl, holding the cool drink to the fevered lips, bathing the feverish brow, and arranging with loving hand the disordered bed-clothes. It was bad enough in the day to sit in the twilight of the sick-room listening to the aimless chatter that came from the white lips, but it was worse at night. The sombre shadows that hung over all, the faint glimmer of the shaded lamp, the uncanny stillness of the house, and nothing awake but the sick girl with her pathetic pleadings, her causeless laughter, and the incessant stream of disconnected wanderings. No wonder Judith was quite worn out with constant watching; much, however, as she needed rest, she never surrendered her weary post by the bed, but sat, watchful and tender, during the long hours, only calling in the nurse when the paroxysms seized the invalid. All through the endless night succeeding the interview she had sat like a stone image in the sick-room, going over in her own tortured mind all that Guinaud had said. The morning broke dull and gray, and the nurse insisted upon her resting for a time. Rest! there was no such luxury for her; for even when lying down, her weary brain went mechanically over the old ground, imagining a thousand terrors, and agonising itself with a thousand pangs. At last she slept for a time, but it was no refreshing slumber such as would bring relief. No! nothing but dreams, strange, horrible dreams, in all of which Judas, cruel and merciless, was the central figure; so in despair of gaining quiet in any way, she arose in the afternoon, and returned to her post by the side of Florry. At four o'clock a card was brought to her bearing the name of Roger Axton, and a few lines scribbled thereon asking her to see him at once. With a start of terror, she wondered whether Judas had been to Axton, and revealed anything; but remembering that silence was as necessary to Judas as to herself, she dismissed this fear as idle, and having called in the nurse, descended to the drawing-room.