time an expression of mingled horror and despair was apparent.
"Francis married! A son! Impossible—it can't be true!" she gasped out, as she sank back on her couch.
"It is true, Lady Laurence," replied the young lady; "and I am anxious to know how my son is situated by the death of his father and grandfather?"
Lady Laurence stood up, looked at her visitor for a moment with widely dilated eyes and a ghastly, bluish-white face, and then dropped on the floor, senseless.
She was carried to bed, and I, having been hurriedly summoned, managed to obtain the same nurse who had attended to her husband, to look after her. I also sent for a medical man.
Then I took charge of the visitor, and learnt from her all I have just told you.
The sick woman, during the night, began to ramble and talk incoherently, with occasional lucid intervals, but her mind had apparently given way; why, it was hard to tell.
The nurse, after awhile, sent for me. "You must come and listen to her," she said. "She talks about the most awful things. What is curare?"
