which followed the events described in the preceding chapter, when time hung heavily on my hands, and I could settle to nothing.
When we reached Tavistock Villa on that important night, Arthur retired to the rooms he had fitted up for himself, and I went silently to my own apartments. We attempted no explanations. We had no word to say. There was not even an uttered "good-night."
Next morning my husband sent for me, and I went at once to his room. He told me he had not slept all night, except for a few minutes at a time, when he had been awakened by alarming dreams. His face was flushed and his eyes moved constantly. It was easy to see that he was ill.
"Elsie," he said, "if people should call to-day, t-tell them that I—I am indisposed—th-that I cannot see them. You will do this?"
"No one shall disturb you," I promised. "We will have a doctor, presently, for I am afraid you are indeed indisposed."
"Do not send for a doctor," he said, excitedly,
