You may feel sure she won't wake before six or seven. She
never does."

The "she" of this message was Mrs. Fenley. Rural England does not
encourage unnecessary courtesy nor harbor such foreign intruders as
"madam." The reiterated pronoun grated on Sylvia; she was disinclined
for further talk.

"Thank you, Parker," she said. "I am glad to know that. Good night."

But Parker had something to say, and this was a favorable opportunity.

"She's been awful bad today, miss. It can't go on."

"That is hardly surprising, taking into account the shock Mrs. Fenley
received this morning."

"That's what I have in me mind, miss. She's changed."

"How changed? You need not close the door. Never mind the light. It is
hardly dark when the eyes become used to the gloom."

Parker drew nearer. Obeying the instincts of her class, she assumed a
confidential tone.

"Well, miss, you know why you went out?"

"Yes," said Sylvia rather curtly. She had left the invalid when the
use of a hypodermic syringe became essential if an imminent outburst
of hysteria was to be prevented. The girl had no power to interfere,
and was too young and inexperienced to make an effective protest; but
she was convinced that to encourage a vice was not the best method of
treating it. More than once she had spoken of the matter to Mortimer
Fenley; but he merely said that he had tried every known means to cure
his wife, short of immuring her in an asylum, and had failed. "She is
happy in a sort of a way," he would add, with a certain softening of
voice and manner. "Let her continue so." Thus a minor tragedy was
drifting to its close when Fenley himself was so rudely robbed of
life.

"As a rule, miss," went on the attendant, "she soon settles after a
dose, but this time she seemed to pass into a sort of a trance.
Gen'rally her words are broken-like an' wild, an' I pays no heed to
'em; but tonight she talked wonderful clear, all about India at first,
an' of a band playin', with sogers marchin' past. Then she spoke about
some people called coolies. There was a lot about them, in lines an'
tea gardens. An' she seemed to be speakin' to another Mrs. Fenley."

The woman's voice sank to an awe-stricken whisper, and Sylvia shivered
somewhat in sympathy. "Another Mrs. Fenley!" It was common knowledge
in the household that Fenley had married a second time, but the belief
was settled that the first wife was dead; Parker, by an unrehearsed
dramatic touch, conveyed the