can't sleep--keeps coming in during the night in her
lovely dressing-gown to ask me how he's going on, and if there's any
change. He's a lucky old thing, if you want my opinion."

Yes, there was no doubt whatever, Lady Clifford's anxiety for her
husband was genuine. She had worked herself into a state of tense
nerves. Yet why? Was it possible she was as fond of the old man as
the night-nurse believed? Esther could hardly credit that. To begin
with there was that conversation at the tea-table, which made it
impossible to think that the Frenchwoman loved her husband, at least
enough to upset herself as she was doing now. What then could be the
reason? Could it be--ah, now perhaps one was getting at it!--could it
be that Sir Charles had made some will of which she did not approve?
She might easily be anxious for him to recover, so that he might have a
chance of altering it. Yes, that was distinctly possible.

And yet, after all, it did not quite fit in with all that her memory
held in connection with that little scene at the Restaurant des
Ambassadeurs. She made an effort to recall it in detail. Had not Lady
Clifford said something about a visit to a fortune-teller of some sort?
What was it? Of course! She said the woman went into a trance and
described "Charles" lying ill in bed, with a doctor beside him and a
nurse.

"Good gracious, it has come true! And I am the nurse!"

She almost exclaimed it out aloud, so great was her astonishment. The
next moment she wondered how on earth she had failed to recall this
astounding coincidence before. Most likely it was due to the fact that
her first impression of Lady Clifford had been overlaid by subsequent
ones. What was it she had thought as she listened to the subdued,
eager voice? There was no question about it--she had been convinced at
the time that the exquisite creature was passionately hoping for
illness to come to her rescue and rid her of a tedious old husband.

Instantly the scales fell from Esther's eyes. Why of course! The
woman was not anxious for fear Sir Charles might die, she was in a
fever of dread lest he should recover! What a horrible thought! Could
it really be true? The habit of believing in people made her long to
reject the explanation, yet she knew she could not. It accounted for
everything, even the expression on the French woman's face a moment ago.

Guiltily Esther glanced at the motionless invalid. There he lay, with
qui