At last she opened her eyes, the dazed, wondering stare that comes
after the period of forced unconsciousness.
"Where--where am I?" she whispered.
"Here--my rooms--you fainted."
"Fainted? Why?"
"I don't know;" he knelt down beside her, all tenderness and apology.
"The fight, I suppose; we were looking on at that fight outside, at
the back. I never thought--I was a brute--it never entered my head
for a moment. Here, take a sip of this water, while I go and get you
some brandy."
He put the glass in her hand, laced her cold fingers round it, and
hurried across to a cupboard in one of the oak cabinets. She was
sipping the water bravely when he returned. He took the glass from
her, emptied nearly all the contents away into the coal-scuttle--the
first receptacle that came to his hand--and poured in the neat
spirit.
"Now drink a few sips of this," he said.
She put it to her lips, then lowered her hand again.
"You're really very kind to me," she said in gratitude.
"Kind! Not a bit. Go on--drink it."
She drank a little, obediently, and the points of light came back
again into her eyes, the colour burnt once more with a little fevered
glow in her cheeks.
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