or's call if the
patient had immediate need of them.

Through the chink of the door, the red glow of a shaded lamp came as a
sharp crimson streak cutting the surrounding gloom.

Louisa pushed open the door that was ajar and tip-toed softly in.

The little room had been transformed for present emergencies. The desk
had been pushed aside, and a small iron bedstead fitted up for the
night nurse. A woman's paraphernalia was scattered about on the
massive early Victorian furniture: a comb and brush, a cap and apron
neatly folded, a couple of long pins, littered the table which used to
look so severe with its heavy inkstand and firm blotting-pad. The
piano had been relegated into a corner, and the portrait of Luke which
always hung over the mantlepiece had been removed.

The door into the bedroom was wide open, and without any hesitation
Louisa went in. The bed was immediately in front of her, and between
it and the hanging lamp beyond a screen had been placed, so that the
upper part of the sick man's figure was invisible at first in the
gloom, and the light lay like a red patch right across the quilt at
the foot.

Louisa advanced noiselessly and then halted beside the bed. The room
was pleasantly warm, and the smell of disinfectants, of medicines, and
of lavender water hung in the air--the air of a sick room, oppressive
and enervating.

Gradually Louisa's eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness. She
fixed them on the sick man who lay quite still against the pillows,
his face no less white than the linen against which it rested. Louisa
had no idea that any man could alter so in such brief while. It almost
seemed difficult to recognize in the white emaciated figure that lay
there with the stillness of death, the vigorous man of a few months
ago.

The face had the appearance of wax, deep lines from the nostrils to
the corners of the mouth accentuating its hollow appearance: the hair
was almost snow-white now and clung matted and damp to the forehead
and sunken temples.

Lord Radclyffe seemed unconscious of Louisa's presence in the room,
but his eyes were wide open and fixed on a spot high upon the wall
immediately opposite to the bed. Louisa looked to see on what those
eyes were gazing so intently, and turning she saw the splendid
portrait of Luke de Mountford painted by the greatest living master of
portraiture, which we all admired in the rooms of the Royal Academy a
few years ago. It had been taken away from t