His wife had not come near him. But Sepia might have been
seen, more than once or twice, hovering about his door.
Both she and Mewks thought, after such a night, he must have
forgotten his appointment with Mary.
When he had had some chocolate, he fell into a doze. But his
sleep was far from profound. Often he woke and again dozed off.
The clock in the dressing-room struck eleven.
"Show Miss Marston up the moment she arrives," he said--and his
voice was almost like that of a man in health.
"Yes, sir," replied the startled Mewks, and felt he must obey.
So Mary was at once shown to the chamber of the sick man.
To her surprise (for Mewks had given her no warning), he was in
bed, and looking as ill as ever she had seen him. His small head
was like a skull covered with parchment. He made the slightest of
signs to her to come nearer--and again. She went close to the
bed. Mewks sat down at the foot of it, out of sight. It was a
great four-post-bed, with curtains.
"I'm glad you're come," he said, with a feeble grin, all he had
for a smile. "I want to have a little talk with you. But I can't
while that brute is sitting there. I have been suffering
horribly. Look at me, and tell me if you think I am going to die
--not that I take your opinion for worth anything. That's not what
I wanted you for, though. I wasn't so ill then. But I want you
the more to talk to now.
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