all people, could he addicted to such a vice, and yet you said you saw the marks on her arm?"
"I hope I should not do anything wicked of that sort."
"I did, but even without that evidence all the other symptoms point to the same conclusion."
"But what can be her motive?" said Mildred. "Six months ago there could not have been a brighter, dearer girl in existence. She was so happy in her engagement too; in short, she was the very personification of perfect health, happiness, and all the graces which adorn young womanhood."
"You cannot say that she is the personification of these things now," I replied.
"No; she is much changed—Jim notices it—he is very unhappy. Oh, poor Frances! Is there any chance of her being cured?"
"Yes, if she will help herself. She is particularly weak, however. I seldom saw anyone as young so completely under the influence of the drug. I could not counsel complete abstinence from it at the present moment, and I intend to inject morphia again to-night. We have now, however, to decide immediately on two things: is the nurse Collins to be telegraphed for, and is Captain Oliver to be told?"
Before Mildred could reply, the door of the room where we were talking was abruptly opened and Oliver himself, looking perturbed and heated, came in.
"I saw you two talking through the window," he said, "and could not restrain my impatience. I know you are discussing Frances's condition, and perhaps you are intending to conceal some particulars from me. Now, I insist upon knowing the truth immediately."
Mildred coloured and hesitated.
"Dr. Halifax and I were just wondering whether we ought to send for a nurse of the name of Collins," she began.
"Collins," repeated Oliver, abruptly. He laughed in a somewhat harsh manner. "Rosamond and I telegraphed for Collins half an hour ago," he said. "What is the use of hesitating about a natural wish of that sort? I suppose a sick girl may be at liberty to send for the nurse she fancies?"
"Certainly," I replied.
"And now I want the truth," he continued. "What is the matter with Frances?"
Before I could reply, Mildred came suddenly up to me. There was an imploring look on her face. She did not speak, however, and the next moment hastily left the room.
I looked at Oliver. He was startlingly white round his eyes and lips.
"You know what ails Miss Wilton," he began. "For God's sake, whatever it is, don't make a mystery of it. I can bear the truth, whatever it is. Is she dying?"
"Almost as bad," I murmured to myself.
Aloud I said, "Nothing of the sort. You want the truth, so you must have it. I warn you in advance that it is startling and painful. Miss Wilton is a confirmed morphia-maniac."
"Nonsense," said Oliver. He looked as if he would much like to knock me down. I walked to the window before I replied.
"I told you that the truth would be painful. That is it. That simple fact accounts for the change which you spoke to me of. I have seen such things before, but never,
