“Miss Pauline is ill,” he said, “and I want you to stay by her, and not leave her for a moment, till I come back.  Make that woman get the room in order instantly, and keep everything as quiet as you can.”  To me:  “I am going to bring a doctor, and I shall be back in a few moments.  Do not worry, they will take good care of you.”

When I heard Richard shut the carriage-door and drive away rapidly, I felt as if I were abandoned, and by the time he returned with the Doctor, I was in a state that warranted them in supposing me unconscious, tossing and moaning, and uttering inarticulate words.

The Doctor stood beside me, and talked about me to Richard with as much freedom as if I had been a corpse.

“I may as well be frank with you,” he said, after a few moments of examination.  “I apprehend great trouble from the brain.  How long has she been in this condition?”

“She has been unlike herself since yesterday; as soon as I saw her, at seven o’clock last night, I noticed she was looking badly.  She answered me in an abstracted, odd way, and was unlike herself, as I have said.  But she had been under much excitement for some time.”

“Tell me, if you please, all about it; and how long she has been under this excitement.”

“She has been often agitated, and quite overstrained in feeling for some time.  Three weeks ago I thought her looking badly.  Two days ago she had a frightful shock—­a suicide—­which she was the first to discover.  Since then I do not think that she has slept.”

“Ah! poor young lady.  She has had a terrible experience, and is paying for it.  Now for what we can do for her.  In the first place, who takes care of her?” with a look about the room.

“You may well ask.  I have just brought her home, and find here, the man-servant ill, one woman too old and inactive to perform much service, and another to whom I would not trust her for a moment.  I must ask you, who shall I get to take care of her?”

“You have no friend, no one to whom you could send in such a case?  One of life and death,—­I hope you understand?”

“None,” answered Richard, with a groan.  “There is not a person in the city to whom I could send for help.  All my family—­all our friends, are away.  Is there no one that can be got for money—­any money? no nurse that you could recommend?”

“I have a list of twenty.  Yesterday I sent to every one, for a dangerous case of hemorrhage, and could not find one disengaged.  It may be to-morrow night before you get on the track of one that is at liberty, if you hunt the city over.  And this girl is in need of instant care; her life hangs on it, you must see.”

“In God’s name, then,” said Richard, with a groan, pacing up and down the room, “what am I to do?”

“In His name, if you come, to that,” said the Doctor, who was a good sort of man, notwithstanding his professional cool ways, “there is a sisterhood, that I am told offer to do things like this.  I never sent to them, for I only heard of it a short time ago; but if you have no objection to crosses, and caps, and ritualistic nonsense in its highest flower, I have no doubt, that they will let you have a sister, and that she’ll do good service here.”