The sound of the word upon his own lips seemed to bring the excitement back on him. "Whisky! Yes, that's it! I don't care who knows it! Whisky! Whisky!" He fairly hissed the words.
For the first time since she came into the room Elizabeth was frightened.
"I think you ought to have a doctor," she said.
She felt him lean against her again, and she gently lowered him to the pillow. His head sank back, and he lay there with white lips and closed lids. She knelt beside him, watching his every breath. After a few minutes he opened his eyes. They were dull, but no longer wild.
"Ought you not to have a doctor, papa dear?" she asked.
Intelligence came struggling back into his face.
"No, my dear," he said, gathering himself for a strong effort. "I have had attacks like this before."
"And a stimulant is all you need?"
"All I need," he muttered. His eyes closed, and his breath came even and deep.
Elizabeth knelt there, thankful that he slept. How white his lips were! How spent he
