quick, flashing glance, she once more resumed her occupation of stroking her soft hair. Her attitude, her manner, her occupation belonged to childhood—I did not like the aspect of things at all.
Will cast a glance at me. I read despair in his eyes. He evidently thought his wife even worse than she was, but I had often seen the effect of shock on peculiar nervous temperaments, and although I was anything but pleased at the aspect of affairs, still I thought it likely that Mrs. Raymond would recover perfectly, if she were carefully attended to.
"Her eyes were intensely bright."
I went up to the bed, therefore, and spoke to her, just as if it were the most natural thing in the world that I should drop in to breakfast at the little inn in Llanmordaff.
I asked her several questions, none of them of a medical character, and presently she roused herself, looked at me attentively, and ceased to play with her hair. With both hands she pushed it back impatiently from her face, and let it fall in long, lovely waves of light over her shoulders. Forcing herself to give me an attentive glance, she spoke:—
"Why have you come?"
Before I could reply Will came up to her, and passed his big hand caressingly over her brow.
"Halifax has come to see you, Maggie, because you are not quite well."
"Yes, I am perfectly well," she retorted. "I wish you would not touch me, Will; I hate being touched." She pulled herself petulantly away.
"You have got a shock," I said. Will looked at me in despair, but I knew that in order to get to the bottom of her malady it was absolutely necessary to rouse her. "You were in a railway accident and you got a shock."
"I don't remember anything about it," she said. "Oh, no, I have not been in a railway accident—you make a mistake. Will was in one, but I was not there." She laughed lightly. Her laugh was terrible to hear.
Will walked across the room and stood by one of the windows.
"Go away, Will," said his wife. "I want to speak to Dr. Halifax alone."
He obeyed, closing the door gently after him.
When he had gone, the expression of her face altered, it became much more intelligent, but there was something intensely painful about it. The intelligence which now animated the eyes and filled the face was not of the gentle and gracious order which used to characterize pretty Margaret Travers. There was a sort of cunning about it, which allied it to that of the animal.
"Look here," she said, almost in a whisper. "I don't want Will to know it, but I have made a discovery."
"I would not keep things from my husband, Mrs. Raymond, if I were you," I answered. "Never mind your discovery, now. I want to ask you a few questions about your health."
"How strange of you," she replied. "I am perfectly well."
"If you were perfectly well you would not stay in bed."
"I like to stay in bed," she replied. "When I am up I am obliged to be with Will all day; now he goes for long walks, and I can be alone. The discovery which I have made, and which I wish to confide to you is this: I have broken my marriage vow!"
"What do you mean?" I said, starting back in momentary horror.
